Mass Effect:  Circular
by Gregg Landsman
Summary: It was not the beginning of the end.  It was not the end of the end.  It was simply the end of the beginning.
1. Chapter 1

_ "Grandpa, did all that really happen?"_

_ "It did, kid. It really did."_

_ "But...but it doesn't make sense, Grandpa. Did Shepard really die? If Earth was destroyed like that, then how...Grandpa, that doesn't make any sense."_

_ "Well, kiddo. That's because I'm not done with Shepard's story."_

_ "...but Grandpa. Shepard died."_

_ "You'd think that. But Shepard died before, didn't she? She came back. And that's the same here. Because, well, you thought her story was over. This is where her story really began..."_

* * *

_..._

* * *

Light.

She remembers light.

She remembers the burning, and desperation. She remembers it all coming down to one decision, and her feeling in the end that she made the _wrong_ decisions. Desperation. Despair. Loss. Everything falling apart around her, and then

Falling

Far

And

Down

Until

* * *

.

* * *

_"Commander! We need to get her back to the Normandy!"_

Vision swims, blurs. The voice is familiar, and welcome. Thought he wasn't there, though. Blue armor, helmet, visor obscuring his vision. Another voice. Not his, but familiar. White and red armor, short ponytail of black hair. Heart shaped face that conveys more steel than cosmo, eyes like

Like someone who was dead. Atomized across a planet far from home. A sharp intake of breath and feeling returns to her limbs. Rush of blood in her ears and her vision clears. She sits up and she hears joints popping. None of that subliminal whir. None of that feeling of weight she had for months. She almost flies to her feet. Reflex for a different body.

Pulling off her helmet, she tosses it to the ground, sweat soaked red hair falling around her face, down past her chin. Blue eyes with bags underneath, too many sleepless nights as XO. Stumbling forward, she collapses to her hands and knees, emptying a morning's breakfast and a meal bar, swimming in acid and bile. Shakily, she wipes her mouth with the back of her gauntlet, and climbs to her feet. A living Lieutenant and a should-be-dead Gunnery Chief stare back at her. And she can't help but smile.

"Commander," Kaidan Alenko says, hand out, concern on his face evident through his helmet, "We...uh...we need to get you back to the Normandy."

She would kiss him right now. But he would freak out. Understandably. She would also kiss Ash, but she's pretty sure that Ash doesn't swing that way, and she would deck her. But she has bigger priorities right now.

"No," Jane Shepard says, grin crossing her features, "No. And Hell no." She taps her earpiece. The logo- SR_-1_, crosses her vision. "Normandy! This is Shepard! The Beacon's exploded. But I have good news."

"_Good news?"_ Anderson's voice. Booming. Commanding. _Alive._ "_I'm listening, Shepard._"

"The Beacon...downloaded something into my brain," she says, and smirks, "I'm trying to make sense of it, but it's given me a location for something! I'm taking Alenko and Williams with me to find it! Have a shuttle ready at these coordinates!"

"_Understood. Be careful out there."_

"Aye aye, sir. Shepard out."

She cracks her knuckles through her gauntlets, rolling her neck. In one motion, she hefts her helmet off the ground, holding it in one hand and walking past her squad mates. Alenko shrugs, and walks after her, Ash in pursuit.

"Commander," he says, "You...you just got hit by the Beacon with something. What's going on?"

"I'll explain later," she responds, "You won't believe me until I show you."

Walking becomes a run. Alenko and Ash in pursuit, she makes double time, the grin on her face splitting into a full on smile. Because now, she realizes. Now she has a _chance._ And Jane Shepard has _two and a half years to save the galaxy._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_In the 22__nd__ century, human explorers on Mars found the ruins of an advanced civilization which predated our own. Among the ruins were the secrets of interstellar spaceflight, secrets of the stars, and a method of travel which made faster than light transit possible. Humanity called it the greatest discovery in human history. The rest of the galaxy calls it the_

**Mass Effect:**

**Circular**

* * *

**...**

* * *

_The chill retreats, and light returns. He opens eyes for the first time in millennia, and gasps in sweet air. Rising from the cradle, he leaps out, falling to the ground. Picking himself up, he feels for his weapon, looking up and finding others standing over him. But not the perversions. Not the slaves._

_ Humans. Three humans, staring at him as he rises. One of them approaches. Red hair, blue eyes. She places a hand on his shoulder and he sees. The Warning. The End. He pauses, stepping back, and she begins to speak. In his language, as the two humans stare with tilted heads and two eyes._

_ "We got the warning," she says, "We don't have long to prepare."_

_ "Commander!"_

_ The other speaks. The male. Another...yes. Yes, he thinks. Another pod opens, and another of his kind stumbles out. The red haired female opens her mouth to say something, a smile on her face. And then she pitches forward and collapses._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_"You did good, kid. You did good."_

_ "Thanks, Anderson."_

_ "..."_

* * *

_.._

_.._

_.._

_ "Anderson?"_

* * *

Eyes open with a gasp. Head spinning, she lifts her head off the pillow, bright lights overhead and someone humming in the background. Recognizes the voice. Someone that familiar she wouldn't forget. A flash of silver hair and the kind face is in front of hers, as memory still flashes in front of her face.

_Must be what being a Drell is like. Thinking disjointed. Make that a Drell and a certain salarian doctor._

"Commander?" the woman asks, "How are you feeling?"

She blinks, smirks.

"I'm...fine, Doctor Chakwas," she responds, "For a given definition of fine."

She yelps as she feels the cool probe of the thermometer jammed into her ear.

"On that we agree, Commander," Karin Chakwas says, "You collapsed from exhaustion right after waking up your guests. Shortly before that, you found your little discovery, after sprinting across Eden Prime. Miss Williams was _quite_ vocal about how she had to haul you back to the shuttle, and how Mister Alenko should have helped by 'Using the Force.'"

Shepard snorts, grinning. She could always rely on Ash for the smart remarks and criticism. That and for killing anything that got in their way. She slides off the bed, feeling the steady hum of an omnitool being run over her, as the doors to the medlab part and David Anderson walks in, standing a good head taller than her and a face sporting a barely perceptible smile.

"Sir," she says, saluting.

"At ease," Anderson says, "Doctor Chakwas, how's my XO?"

"She needs rest. Don't get into a firefight for a day or so and she's back to changing the galaxy."

"Duly noted," he responds, "Shepard, I won't lie to you. Udina is pissed. All he knows is that Nihlus is dead and the Beacon's destroyed. I couldn't tell him the rest, even over a secured channel but...what did you see?"

Death. Twisting into something else. Screams as worlds burn and civilization dies in fire. Desperation and warning. Mothers crying for dead children. Husbands mourning wives, children mourning parents. Old friends reunited to find one has been mind raped into obedience to uncaring masters.

"It...it was a warning," she says, "An empire-wide warning. A lot of Prothean technology was based on neural transmission. They evolved from hunters, and they could do that sort of thing, somehow. We got lucky because their Mars outpost didn't have much in the way of working communication equipment."

Anderson nods. He has a tendency of doing that.

"What was it a warning of?"

"Protheans called them the _Reapers._ A race of machines from beyond the galaxy. They figured out that every fifty thousand years, they come in, wipe out all starfaring life, and leave. They were at war with the Reapers for centuries, sir."

"We know. They explained that."

"Good," she says, "Good. What about Saren?"

Hands clasped behind himself, Anderson paces. That's not good, she muses.

"It's not a pretty picture that they painted," he says, "We have _some_ knowledge. But not enough. We still don't have anything to connect Saren to the Geth. We need that, too, if we're going to get the Council to actually do anything."

Shepard only smiles. She leans against the wall, her feet still unsteady, her vision swimming. Like something jammed in her ear, sending her balance...off. But the dizziness still passes. Memories of the previous time she was here, when all they had was hearsay, half remembered, broken visions and a completely ruined mission to work with.

Now they have _more._

"I think I've figured a few things out," she says, "Didn't you work with Saren, before?"

Anderson pauses. A hint of something. Not something pleasant. Something crosses his face, though, a look one gets when they take a bight of something particularly stomach churning. Like that time Joker tried to cook for them.

"I have," he says, and grimaces, "How'd you hear about that? I thought it was buried."

"If I'm a Spectre candidate, I thought I should read up," she lies, shrugging, "I heard he screwed you over on a mission once. So we know this son of a bitch is dirty and he hates humans. What else do we know?"

Sighing, Anderson walks over to Chakwas' desk, pulling over a chair. Sitting down, her folds his hands, leaning forward, and tells the story she remembers.

* * *

...

* * *

A crackle of blue. Energy released, location transposed in infinity, and the great azure gun pointed towards the void releases its latest traveller into the violet and green that is the Serpent Nebula. Four engines flaring, the arrow shaped black and white craft banks as it approaches the single object orbiting the Widow star.

Tapping the consoles, fingers dancing over the buttons of the holographic buttons hovering before him, the man in the pilot seat smirks, adjusts his cap, and glances to his right as Kaidan sits down at his station, still in his body armor.

"How's our guests?"

"They're...good," Kaidan says, sucking his teeth, "Williams-"

"_Williams?"_

"...Ash is with them. Talking with them," Kaidan corrects, and balls his fist and coughs, "We're not supposed to directly refer to them. Anderson thinks that...uh..."

"He thinks Saren might have bugs on this ship?"

"Joker..."

"Seriously," the pilot says, turning Kaidan, "Wow. I knew the Captain _hated_ Saren but..."

"This is serious, Joker," Kaidan says, glancing at the pilot, "If he's listening..."

"Then I hope he doesn't hear the secret about all the porn I have starring his _Mom,_" Joker says, "Well, his _Mom_ and the three humans, the batarian and oh my God it's a Krogan too. Wow. How did _Saren's Mom_ make all that fit? I have no idea!"

Kaidan stares at Joker, tapping his index finger on the armrest of his seat.

"Bet he's not listening now," Joker says with a smirk, and taps a button in front of him, "Citadel Control, this is SSV Normandy, requesting a docking berth."

* * *

...

* * *

_Alert_

_SystemstartEARLY_

_Anomaly DETECTED_

* * *

_._

* * *

With a start, blue eyes open in the pitch black. He is himself again. He doesn't feel the presence pressing upon him. Standing from the metal seat, heavy boots carry him across the dimly lit interior of the dreadnought. The arm still feels...off. Like a second skin, like a glove over the hand. Not like a prosthetic, but more muted.

But he perseveres. He always perseveres.

When he held the lines against the ape people, he persevered. When he was forced to allow his own brother to die in order to save Palaven, he persevered. And now, in this deal with the devil...this monster that, spirits help him, offered him the way out he needs. He perseveres.

Blue eyes glow in the darkness, and his ally has once more forgotten that organics need light to see. The Asari have taken to wearing breather masks when aboard, when not in his war room. The synthetics need no such thing as air or water, and have free reign of this vessel.

As does he. He feels vents pumping air into the blue and gray steel corridors as he stalks down, the glowing lights of the Geth faces parting for him, providing scant illumination as he finds himself before the core of the living dreadnought.

A glowing blue sphere, suspended high above. The heart of Sovereign. And sitting cross legged, hands on his armored knees, Saren Arterius closes his eyes and communes with his ship.

* * *

...

* * *

Kaidan Alenko thought that the most exciting part of this mission was the detour that the Commander dragged him and their third-newest passenger on, following her getting mind whammied by the Ominous Green Obelisk. But no. No, he thought wrong. Because now, he's following a fully armored N7 soldier as she runs at full tilt through the docks of the Citadel. He has no idea how this woman gets this kind of energy. He has no idea how she's running this fast in _that much armor._ What he _does_ know, however, is that Ambassador Udina is going to _kill them both._

Civilians know better than to get in the way of a grown woman in Alliance battle armor. Some things never change, and Jane Shepard counts on this, sprinting through the parting crowd of civillians as she charges down the corridors of Dock 24. The Serpent Nebula bathes the world in violent and emerald behind her, passing ships leaving flashing trails of blue and white.

Omnitool hacks the manifests, using a passcode she remembers from another life. She'll have to explain to a certain Turian how she got his account in a few hours. That can wait for now.

Still young. Not using an assumed name. Someone's going to have to chew her out.

First, she needs to save her life.

Rushing through the crowd, she sees the hood, the opaque visor. Awkward gate, walking through the crowd debarking from the shuttle. Flash of light, glare off of glass on a balcony above. Running and vaulting over a divider into the receiving area. People scream. An Elcor lumbers in front of her, and she leaps, climbing up the elephant sized heavy worlder and screaming at the top of her lungs.

"_Tali!"_

The girl turns. She leaps, her shields crackling to life as she puts herself between the girl and the polonium round, which deflects off her shields. People start screaming, rushing for the exits as they realize that yes, this is _now a firefight,_ and she extends a hand towards the surprised turian assassin as the implants built into the base of her skull crackle with blue light.

A strangled scream as one turian launches at speed off the balcony and flies towards Shepard.

More importantly, straight into her fist.

The unconscious, armored alien lies at her feet. He's still groaning, the mandibles flanking his jaw twitching back and forth, recessed eyes closed and his guns laying at his side, which she kicks away.

Turning to the girl, shakily standing, three fingered hands clenching and unclenching with glowing eyes darting from the unconscious assassin to her, the light on her helmet flickers as she tries to stammer out words.

"_Who...what..."_

"Tali'Zorah" _Vas Normandy_ "Nar Rayya?"

The girl turns to her, focuses on her.

"_How do you know my name?"_

Shepard clears her throat. Cracks her knuckles, then folds her hands behind her.

"You're the daughter of Admiral Rael'Zorah, right?"

There. Simple lie. Gives the girl pause.

"_Yes. What is this about? Why was he...he was trying to kill me, wasn't he? Keelah..."_

Her knees shake, almost buckling. Shaking her head, the quarian breathes deep, steadying herself.

"I understand you might be able to help us," Shepard continues, "I'm Commander Jane Shepard, Alliance military. If you'll come with me, our Ambassador will really want to talk to you."

The girl nods, still shaking. Can't blame her. Kaidan walks over, staring at the unconscious turian, turning to them with questions on his face.

"Shepard? What...what the _Hell-_"

"I found us a lead on Saren," she says, brushing loose hair out of her face, "Williams?"

"With our guests," Kaidan responds, "Same with Anderson. But he wants you when we talk with Udina. Care to fill me in?"

She holds back a chuckle. Good soldier, slow on the uptake. That's probably what drew her to him in the first place. He knew when to listen.

"This is Tali," she says, "She might have something that can connect Saren to the Geth. I figure if we show all this to Udina, we might actually get him to crack a smile. So let's head up."

Kaidan nods. The fatigue is showing. She has to cut him a break soon, at least if she wants to keep him from really asking questions she doesn't know how to answer yet.

She lets him walk Tali towards the elevators. He's already making small talk. Good. Just like she remembers.

Now if she didn't have to remember them both dying, she could count this as a victory.

* * *

...

* * *

Eyes open in the darkness with an intake of breath. His eyes focus, glowing faintly in the night as he sits up in the bed. Memory. _Memory_ comes back. Everything that happened, everything that messed up and blew up in their faces. He jumps out of the bed, walking across the smooth metal floor. Hands through hair, feeling the cool air cycling around him.

No voices. No will pressing against. No compulsion.

Good.

Good.

No indoctrination. Ah. So it _is_ a biological alteration. Although, not sure exactly. Because this seems to be not a biological transfer, but something...else.

"Hm..."

A chill. Then warmth. In the darkness, the other occupant of the bed, blue skin iridescent in the darkness, shifts and moves, propping herself up on her elbow.

"Something wrong?" she moans.

He looks down. Ah, yes, he muses. He is naked. And there's one of his more frequent liaisons waiting for him.

"Nothing at all," he says with a smile.

Duty awaits.

* * *

...

* * *

"Okay. Eyes up guys. We're going to get you both past security and to do that, we need to trick them. Which one do you want?"

He stares at the door. Beyond it, myth. They watched the approach through the windows of the portside observation deck, as the ship approached it. Five arms open wide, glittering lights running the length. Material of an age lost to time, metal and majesty and home to millions. They have only _heard_ of the Citadel. It was lost. It was myth. It was the beginning of the end.

But now, they are to set foot on it.

Even if they must wear the ridiculous hats being held up by the black haired human. Silently, he takes the one with the wide rim, and the belt buckle wrapped around the middle. His superior, grumbling, takes the tall hat, black and with a fur trim.

"Smiles," Ashley says, "And when I tell you to do the thing? Do the thing."

* * *

...

* * *

Donnel Udina. Ambassador of the Systems Alliance to the Citadel embassies. He's never been a warm person, or someone with a tendency to smile. He's a politician and bureaucrat. Promoted past his actual level of ability because he was _good_ at being the advocate, good at being the voice making the demands of the other. He also wasn't, and never was, military.

That's probably one of many reasons why she never liked him. Well, that's probably one of the reasons things went down with him like they did. Might as well start fresh.

Heels click as she stands in front of the desk, and she brings her right hand up in a sharp salute. The older man seems confused at first. He must not be used to military, and especially Anderson's XO, showing him the proper respect due to him as the highest ranking human on the Citadel. He may even get used to this.

"Shepard," he says, voice dripping with exhaustion as he rubs his temples, "What's this I hear about a _firefight_ in the docking area?"

"Apologies, Ambassador," she says, "But I didn't have time to report in. I found out that someone had evidence linking Saren to the Geth, and Saren had already put a hit out on her."

Udina sputters. It's no secret Saren is a ruthless son of a bitch, but this is brazen. Even for him. And she knows him well, by now.

"Right," he says, and sighs, leaning back in the chair, "Shepard, this is a disaster. Nihlius is dead. The Beacon is destroyed. Do you have _anything_ that can appease the Council?"

"Three things, Ambassador. First, I found a Quarian who has audio evidence of Saren working with the Geth. Second and third, the Beacon downloaded information directly into my mind. Part of the information," she lies, "Was the location of a deep stasis bunker from 50,000 years ago that had mostly defunct stasis pods. We found two that were still working. Williams?"

The door opens. A hiss of steel and steam, and Ash walks in, followed by two others. Tali is being interviewed by Kaidan and Anderson, and they need to analyze the data first. This, on the other hand, couldn't wait. Tall, in gold and yellow armor more resembling a samurai than a spaceman. Their heads form inverted cones, flat on top, with four yellow eyes in a line, hourglass irises probing the room.

The second was a lucky break. She figured that the pod would have gone offline, and the inhabitant dead, sometime in the next year to preserve the leader. Too late for the others, though. Far too late.

But this time she has two. The smaller of them, the one she has never met before this time, lacks the scars on the face, lacks the air of melancholy which seems to suffuse his leader, his superior. That much, at least, is evident by the way he is idly looking at Ash's armored posterior.

"How'd you get them through security?" Shepard asks.

Ash shrugs.

"Gave them baseball caps and had them do the robot," she responds, "Also. Hey!"

She turns to the shorter of the two.

"Do the thing!"

The shorter of the two ancient extinct mysterious aliens stands ramrod straight, smiling.

"Hello!" he says, "I am a robot based on the extinct alien species you call the Protheans! Nice to meet you!"

"What," Udina says, "What. You. What. _What._"

Udina turns from Ash to Shepard, to the two aliens.

"Protheans?" he asks, "You. Live. Protheans?"

Shepard stands at attention. Following her lead, so does Ash.

"We found them near the dig site," she says, "They were the only two left. They've confirmed what I saw because of the Beacon and that means Saren's a much bigger problem than we thought. We need to see the council."

Her answer comes with a resounding _whump_ as Udina collapses. Shepard, Ash, and the two ancient aliens stare at the collapsed form of the ambassador, as Shepard sighs, shrugs, and walks over to pull him back into his seat. If she's going to be nicer to the pain in her ass, she might as well make him comfortable.

"So," the shorter one asks, "Is he dead?"

His answer, from the larger one, is a cuff upside the head.

* * *

...

* * *

This is Jane Shepard.

Spacer. Born on Arcturus Station in 2155. Her father is the XO of Arcturus Station. Her mother is, currently, the XO of the SSV Eisenstein. She has a twin brother. She went through five years of intense training at Ascension, ending with her receiving an L3 biotic implant. She went from there into the military, and has been a soldier for years, and one of the youngest N7's on record. Special forces. A war hero. A leader.

A failure.

Leaning on the windowsill of Udina's office, she stares out over the Presidium. Millions of people live on this station. Millions of people who died. Who died because she failed them.

She recognizes faces. That couple, an expected mother and her brother in law. Arguing about their child. Probably end up as husks. Probably arguing up until...no. No, they settled their things. Probably died fighting.

She sees others. A squat, round alien in an encounter suit, a Volus, exiting his office in the financial sector. Barla Von, one of the Shadow Broker's agents. Would end up working for her best friend. Died. A few days before she died. Not Shepard, though. She died once, she remembers. Then managed to outlive every single person she loved.

Every.

Single.

Person.

Some died on a chunk of rock orbiting a black hole. Some died on the Citadel. Some died on a world on the edge of the Terminus systems. Some died right by her side on Earth, when

"Shepard?"

She turns, her head at first, then turns around completely. The shorter of the two aliens she found on Eden Prime. The one who actually smiles every now and then.

"Kova, was it?"

"I'm glad you remember my name," he says with a half grin, his voice carrying the same accent as the other's. A hint of african, a hint of british. Alien and wise at the same time.

He balls a three fingered hand into a fist and coughs.

"Shepard, I know that my superior is...less than social, but I did want to thank you for finding us," he continues, "I...have communicated with the copy of Victory that I keep in my armor. My stasis pod would have been shut off next month. You saved my life."

"I couldn't save the others," she says, gaze wandering to the side, where she sees Anderson and Udina talking with the taller Prothean, "How long ago were the others..."

"Three years ago was the last one before I," Kova responds, "He was a friend. He would have..." Four eyes glance out towards the water. "He would have been happy to see this. In my time, the Citadel was a myth."

Hands folded behind him, he stands next to her, looking out over the blue and white. His smile grows wider, yellow eyes scanning over the city before him.

"The Citadel was taken long before I was born. We would tell stories of its majesty. The seat of our empire, long after our homeworld was lost and forgotten. The height of our empire, and the source of its demise."

"And probably the best chance we have," she responds, leaning on the windowsill, "There's...probably a few people out there who will be _very_ interested in meeting you. If you're willing to meet them."

A small chuckle from the four eyed alien. Bracing against the windowsill, he smiles.

"You have given me this, Shepard," he says, "For that you have my gratitude. And my loyalty. And even if my superior will not say as much, you have his, too."

* * *

...

* * *

The red and blue sun churns behind him, silhouetting the sitting chessmaster on his metal and plush throne. Light from the honeycomb of screens reflects off the blank metal floor, bathing him in gold. Smoke wafts, forming rings as he leans back, puffing out shapes in the cigar smoke. He's switched over to cigars. Cubans, in fact. Maybe he'll try some others later, like the ones with the long handle, or maybe with a rhinestone tip. He always wanted to try those. Sipping the drink, an old Earth drink called an Appletini, he winces at the taste and sets it down as the lift comes up and the single, black haired figure enters.

"Leng," the Illusive Man says.

Kai Leng, master assassin, folds his hands behind him and nods. He doesn't salute. An N7 washout like him wouldn't do that, what with him also being a raging psychopath. One needs to be to be able to kill a berserk Krogan with a knife. And maybe some butter. But that's not important.

"Sir," Leng says.

"I need you to just stand still for a moment, Leng," the man with the glowing blue eyes says. He reaches over and taps a button on his console, leaning back and smiling.

As it is, the last thing that would go through the head of Kai Leng would be curiosity on why his employer had summoned him, befuddlement at the slight change of temperament of the Illusive Man, and well contained anger on how he is continually talked down to by his employer.

Well, that, and the Widow anti-material round which separates Kai Leng's head from his shoulders, courtesy of the turret which dropped down next to him.

Kai Leng, sans head, drops to the floor, spurting blood over the polished metal as the Illusive Man puffs his cuban cigar and takes a bitter sip of his pink and green drink, smiling as the turret folds back up into the ceiling.

"No one kills my second in command, dipshit."

That sounded off, he thinks. Less his crafted persona and more the man he was before he became the leader of Cerberus. Well, he allows himself a little indulgence, for preventing one of his might-have-beens. Besides which, for all his use, Leng was...not stable. Cerberus needs stability, not assassins who are hot headed at best, unsubtle at best. At worst, raging psychopaths. The disaster that was Leng bugging Anderson's apartment was the least of the problems with him. And with his mind clear, he takes some of the...events...personally. Now he just needs to prevent the rest of those circumstances. And ensure loyalty.

He taps his chair again, turning as one of the screens hovering behind him turns into the image of his actual second in command. The self cleaning robots are already breaking down what was Leng, and the Illusive Man smiles, folds his hands in front of his face, and waits as the black haired beauty's face comes into focus.

"_Sir?"_ Miranda Lawson asks.

"Miranda, I hope you don't mind me taking the initiative, but I've had our codebreakers and IT specialists change Henry Lawson's will to name you his sole beneficiary. How would you like him killed?"

As much as other men take more notice of her other assets, the Illusive Man has _always_ placed more value in Miranda's _smile._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_ "Tell them..." A wet, gurgling cough "Tell them that I held the line."_

* * *

...

* * *

Blue eyes open with a start, and Jane sits up on the bed, the steady ticking of her omnitool in time with the beeping of the alarm. The window shades of the Presidium hotel fold up, revealing the ever-present sunlight of the Citadel's administrative heart. Padding in sock covered feet on the floor, she walks to the sink. The wall cabinet shifts, a digital camera built into its base turning it into an impromptu mirror as she splashes water on her face, rubbing the sleep and fatigue from her eyes.

Anderson and Udina are talking with the Council. They want to save the Protheans for when they can have them all present. Sparatus said he would be ready in 2 hours, he was the last hold out. Confronted with the possibility of a turian spectre going rogue, he's probably been in contact with the Primarch...

She shakes her head, bangs of damp red hair stuck to her forehead. She knows far too much about the politics now. She was there when it all burnt down, of course.

She stares at the mirror, the light flickering on overhead. Eyes wander to the cheek, her left cheek. She keeps expecting to see the jagged yellow lines, to see the red in the depths of her eyes. It's not there. Unbidden, the hand comes up to her cheek, pressing. She doesn't feel the cool, smooth metal. Just bone, flesh, muscle.

Memories flood back. It's 2183. She keeps telling herself that. She's still _human,_ not a reanimated corpse filled with Reaper tech. Earth is still whole. The people she let die are still alive. And the clock it ticking.

She leaves the shorts and shirt she wears for her occasional, fitful sleep in the fresher, the green lights on the wall built box blinking as it cleans it. For this, she's going to have to go more low key. A sweater and jeans which she ordered enroute to the Citadel, her collapsed sidearm in a satchel on her side. Sneakers squeak on the metal floor of the Presidium, exiting the diplomatic housing. She moves with the crowd, hands in her pockets. The omnitool, invisible in sleep mode, tells her the time, as she fixes two earbuds in.

Soft music playing, she walks among the crowd. She's use her omnitool, use her implant. Doesn't feel like doing that, now. Doesn't feel like using something _built _in to her. Head down, moving automatically towards the elevators that will take her down to the Wards, humming along with the song.

Walking past the arguing couple, walking past the preaching Hanar, its pink tentacles waving about as the C-Sec turian throws up his arms in frustration, she walks past the crowd, into the elevator, and finds it occupied.

"Commander?"

She looks up. Gesture, and her omnitool cuts the music.

"Joker?"

Leaning on crutches, pilot cap still in place, still in his uniform blues, Jeff Moreau smirks as Shepard walks in.

"Don't think I've ever seen you out of the blues, Commander," he says, "When's the meeting?"

"Two hours," she responds, the door closing as she enters the elevator, "I had something I wanted to check out."

The lift begins its slow descent, Shepard shifting from side to side. This could be bad. Even when he was fixed up as much as he was, she was...loathe...to take Joker into a firefight. This could be _very_ bad.

"So," she says, "What...uh what brings you down here?"

"I got some R&R," Joker responds, leaning back on his crutches, "Just won this drawing, and got a ticket to the Hanged Man. You know, the comedy show? Decided to celebrate."

"Celebrate what?" she asks.

He shrugs.

"Can't help but notice you're not asking about..."

He nods to the crutches.

"Vrolik syndrome?" she asks, "I read your personnel file. I knew."

Well, after he told her, of course, but she's not going to slip the whole 'I travelled in time' thing, yet. Even if Joker's one of the most likely people she knows who'd shrug, accept it, and ask for lottery numbers.

"Really?"

"You got the name 'Joker' because you never smiled during training," she responds, folding her arms with a small grin, "You were working too hard. Then you kicked everyone's asses and were the only guy smiling at graduation. And you're from Tiptree, right?"

"Right indeed," he says with a smile, "So you _did_ read my personnel file. Sister's name?"

"Hilary."

"I'd give you one of those manly arm punches, but I'd break my hand," he chuckles, "Well, I just got an email from my baby sister. Dad just got a new job on Horizon, so they're moving in a few months."

The door chimes. Fixing his hat, Joker nods.

"My stop. See you later, Commander!"

And Joker, fumbling his crutches, lurches out, leaving Jane watching him go. She chews her lip as the lift continues its descent towards the Wards. What was that about, she asks herself. She only remembers Joker's sister because she _died,_ and he never found out.

But she didn't do anything. She thought about sending a message to Tiptree, or trying to get in touch with her on a comm terminal or something, but she didn't _do_ anything.

The door rings again, the soft music of the elevator becoming the noise of the Wards, and she exits the elevator and enters the push of the crowd.

* * *

...

* * *

This is Tali'Zorah nar Rayya.

Hands fidgeting, she paces the empty office of Ambassador Udina. Needless to say, her plans have been...derailed. She would say that. They have been significantly derailed. Which is better than saying that they have been good and blown to crap, scattered to the winds, and buried under a clusterf_ so deep that Ancestors help her she has no idea what she's going to do.

She intended to find some information about the Geth. Find out how they've changed since they drove her ancestors off of Rannoch three centuries ago.

Now, _now,_ she seems to have been roped into saving the galaxy alongside a human ship, the human commander who _saved her life_, and two aliens who turned out to be _Protheans._

At least, she thinks, At least, this pilgrimage gift should satisfy her father.

_Maybe._

The green circle in front of the door to the office disappears. Inwardly, Tali wonders if she should hide, or maybe find a gun. It has been one of those sorts of days. Instead, the day manages to catch up with her and she stands still, the glowing slits of her eyes becoming two glowing perfect circles underneath her fusca face mask. Flight turns out to be not necessary as the door opens, and Kaidan Alenko enters.

Without armor.

Which Tali comes to the conclusion that he must be poured into, because no one should have pectorals as defined as ballistics armor and oh yes she must be more shocked than she thought. A quick glance downward makes her brain agree with her suit that yes, she _wasn't_ shot, she's just very, very stressed.

"Hey, Miss Tali," holding up a gray, tin covered bottle, smiling in a way that makes Tali's suit scream in her ear that her heart rate has elevated, "I brought you something. I couldn't find any actual quarian food, but it's a turian nutrient shake. Berry flavored, _and_ sterilized."

She stammers. Inwardly swears at herself as virulently as possible. Makes a note to install a nerve stimulation package in her suit when she next gets back to the Migrant Fleet.

"_Thank you,_" she says. She takes the bottle with both hands, her mask hiding the smile but her body language showing all the same. He leads her over to one of Udina's chairs, and hesitantly she sits down, realizing that it has been several hours since she sat.

"Sorry about this," Kaidan says, "It's been busy. Although, Anderson argued on your behalf to Udina, and Udina approved you being aboard the Normandy."

"_Anderson?"_ She looks up, straw halfway in the bottle, "_Why? I...I don't think I've talked to him."_

"Well, mainly because Shepard argued at length for you," Kaidan says, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her, "She made a good point. This probably wouldn't be the only assassination attempt that Saren tried on you, and the safest place right now for you probably _is_ the Normandy."

She nods. Safe. Against assassins who shoot at her with polonium rounds designed to kill her with as much pain as possible. She shudders, her suit again warning her about heart rate and now skin temperature and asking if she has a fever.

"_Why did Commander Shepard do that?"_

He shrugs, leaning forward and folding his hands between his knees.

"I dunno," he says, "It's...she's...weird. The entire mission to Eden Prime was completely pear shaped. She gets hit by the beacon, we find the...guests..."

"_Are they real, live Protheans?"_

"As opposed to fake, dead ones?" Kaidan asks, voice deeper, scratchier, an imitation of theirs. He chuckles. She blushes, smiling. "Yeah, Joker thinks that one has the Citadel shoved up his oh right sorry."

She continues loudly slurping her drink.

"Sorry," he says, "It's just...I haven't been on the Normandy that long. I talked with Shepard a bit when we were en route to Eden Prime, and she's just...a different person since the Beacon. Everyone's so concerned about the Protheans or Saren, or what the Council will do, and I'm worried about my commanding officer. So I'm a little ranty."

Tali nods, straw releasing from the port of her face mask.

"_If I could ask, Lieutenant, where is Commander Shepard?"_

* * *

_..._

* * *

Anticipation makes the elevator ride slower. If that were actually possible. It's anticipation making the butterflies flutter in her gut. Anticipation making her dread this at the same time she wants to do this. Anticipation knowing that she's going into a firefight with the person, the one man, who she knows will have her back.

Even if he doesn't know it yet.

Even if he hasn't met her yet.

Even if he doesn't have her memories of him bleeding out on a space station at the heart of the galaxy.

A mental check. Her omnitool flashes the time as she walks out of the elevator, eyes following the sign to the clinic. She reaches into the pouch on her side, the pistol folding out beeping its readiness, the implants at the base of her skull glowing iridescent blue.

Tapping the green at the center of the door, the door retracts, opens, and she walks in to find three men in low budget body armor, and one attractive young woman with short red hair and in a red and white doctor's uniform.

Gun out, Shepard walks in. The thugs- Fist's thugs, she remembers- shout, surprised, swearing, one of them grabbing the woman, arm around her neck, gun pointed to her head. Shepard's eyes glance from side to side, scanning the room. He should be ducked just behind the wall of shelves and medical supplies. But she sees no one. Nothing. She's the only person here, and there are three lowlifes with guns and one hostage.

No. Two.

Because the one holding Dr. Michel as a human shield has just been yanked off her, slamming head first into the wall next to the monitor screen. A second goes flying across the infirmary, yelling cut short as he goes into a shelf, dragging that and the supplies down to the floor. The last falls, three bullet holes in his chest where Shepard places them.

And then the air next to Dr. Michel shifts, forming into a large figure. Blue armor lined with gray, forming an oversized collar around his head. The same transparent blue over his left eye, cat like gray face lined with spikes, mandibles twitching. Almost as soon as he appears, the crackling white of a switched off _tactical cloak_ marking his presence, he grabs the woman, pulling her into a hug, their foreheads pressed together.

"Chloe," he says, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she breathes, a small smile on her face, "Fine. How long were you..."

"Long enough to think that Fist needs to be paid a visit," he says, and glances over towards Shepard, one eye fixing on her. Shepard only tilts her head, her pistol already closed up.

"Thanks for the assist," the turian says, rolling his head as he slowly eases the doctor out of the hug, "I was thinking I'd have to finesse that more, but I appreciate the distraction. Although I don't think most people come to free medical clinics with a..." He glances at the pistol. "Stiletto? Type VI? Good model."

Shepard nods, extending a hand.

"I was actually looking for you," she says, "Commander Jane Shepard, Alliance military."

The turian extends his hand, shaking hers.

"Garrus Vakarian. Special Tactics and Reconnaissance."

Which is exactly when Jane's mind locks up, with one question.

_Did he just say he's a _Spectre?


	2. Team Building

The alien stands on the platform, above the drop into the glass covered arboretum, before the three members of the Council which have the final say in matters of the Citadel. He is covered in red armor reminiscent of a Samurai from Earth's distant past. Two eyes flanked by two smaller eyes, hourglass shaped irises and pupils centered on them. The Salarian, first, then the Asari and the Turian.

Primitives, he would call them. The Salarian especially. They used to lick their _eyes._

But now he is here. Awakened, with less than three years to spare before the Reapers come. Awakened, in the middle of one madman's quest to bring the Reapers through the Citadel Relay. Awakened, with his second in command. To bring _hope_ to the galaxy, along with the human who found him.

He has not told her, but he knows.

He knows the truth, from her. He knows the lie she has carefully constructed to maintain the sanity of those around her. But he will not speak of it.

It is not his place. _This_ is.

"I am Javik," he says, "I am the Exemplar of Vengeance of the Prothean Empire. I am the last voice of a dead people, demanding blood be spilled for blood that was lost."

They fall silent. Many of the youngers have done that around him. Humans especially. But, their ascension was due to the archives they found on Mars, which they probe carefully, safely. They wouldn't even _find_ the Crucible until it was too late.

"The man you know as Saren Arterius is Indoctrinated," Javik continues, "He is a _slave_ to the Reaper he calls Sovereign. His will is no longer his own. He will stop at nothing to bring them to this galaxy, and should he succeed, your empires will _die._ He must be stopped. The Reapers must be stopped. And she-"

He turns, leveling an armored finger at Shepard.

"Is your best chance. If you wish to save this galaxy, you must put your trust in her. The Beacon entrusted her with what we know for a reason. Trust her like it did. Hesitation is not an option."

Turning, back to the primitives who claim to rule the galaxy, he walks off the platform. Eyes scanning, he finds his second speaking to an olive skinned Asari, grinning as her cheeks turn darker. Grabbing him by the collar of his armor, Kova chokes as Javik drags him towards the elevator.

"You will have time to mate with them later, Kova," he says, "We have business to conduct."

"Which is?" Kova asks, rubbing his neck as they walk into the elevator.

"We must find the Hanar ambassador," Javik responds, "We must find our people."

And as the elevator doors close in front of them, they see the crowd assembled. And hear the Asari councillor, Tevos, speaking.

"_Commander Shepard, it is the decision of this Council to grant you the powers and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch of the Citadel..."_

* * *

**Chapter 2:**

**Team Building**

* * *

_Spectre Authority._

Beautiful words. What they translate to is roughly, _cut the red tape right now._ She didn't use those words enough. She just played along with the plot as it unfolded. But now, she has ideas. She has ideas of how to work around the twists, around the forks. She just isn't sure how.

"I don't know how you knew about him," Garrus says, "I admit, I'm curious."

The elevator continues its slow tick down. Changed back to her black and navy armor, she folds her hands behind her, eyes straight ahead.

"I did a search," she says, "Mercenaries, Krogans. Saren has deep pockets, and anyone he hired would have to be good. So a giant, experienced, biotic Krogan mercenary?"

"Try not to think too much like Saren," he says, mandibles twitching, "It's a bad place to go."

She nods. He folds his hands behind himself. She recognizes the armor he wears- blue and white, silver at the edges. Probably higher end, like what he wore when they met on Omega. Probably higher than his paygrade when he worked for C-Sec. Only now he doesn't. Now he's a _Spectre._ How the Hell did that happen?

"I appreciate you asking me along," Garrus continues, "I would understand if Saren's betrayal would have soured you towards working with a turian. That barefaced son of a bitch has a way of turning us against each other."

A rumble from his throat. She remembers how he would get like this. Angry, dark, seething. Usually she's get his mind off those things by changing the subject. Might as well see if some things are still constant.

"Barefaced?"

His mandibles twitch. A small smile on his face.

"All turians have face marks. They're not personal decorations, they're markings that say where you come from. Mine," he points to the blue lines by his jaw, "Say I'm from the Hadiger district. It's a small city cluster on Palaven. Barefaced means...no markings. No allegiance."

"No trust?" she asks.

He nods.

"It's a stereotype," he says with a sigh, voice a low rumble, "It's just...it's like every bareface I meet _is_ an untrustworthy son of a bitch. The problem with the stereotype is that you keep meeting people who meet the stereotype. It's annoying."

The door chimes and opens. C-Sec headquarters, the domed ceiling high up, the masses moving back and forth, reporting, processing, enforcing. The video of her swearing in is still playing on the screen up top, and she shrinks slightly as she walks alongside Garrus, walking past saluting officers and uncaring, unseeing Keepers. She recognizes some of them. Chellick, Bailey. Some she can't remember the names of.

And they walk into one of the waiting room, past an arguing volus and salarian, and find him slumped on one of the chairs, red eyes wandering over the room. She read that the placement of the eyes mean they're prey animals. Even if they're only prey to Thresher Maws and Harvesters. Red shell over his forehead, hump higher than his head, in blood red armor and leaning forward. He is, apparently, in a staring contest with two officers, who are once again warning him of the consequences of his actions.

"Spectre authority," Garrus says, "We'll take it from here."

The two officers, humans, salute and walk out. Folding his arms, Garrus locks eyes with the Krogan sitting in front of them.

"Wrex," he says.

"Vakarian," the krogan grumbles, and glances at Jane, "Shepard."

"Wrex," she responds, "How do you know me?"

"Spectre video playing on every damn screen," the old Krogan grumbles, "So you two come to visit me." A grin, tight, and a chuckle. "Should've figured Vakarian'd come with you. Garrus has always had a thing for human redheads."

Garrus rolls his eyes. Jane shakes her head, folding her arms and nodding to the turian. Her partner.

"Wrex, I understand you're between jobs," she says, "What happened? Fist should be halfway to Omega by now."

"Yeah. Cause it turns out the quarian you saved was the same one he was tracking," Wrex responds, leaning on one knee, "And that spooks Fist. After all, the new shining example of humanity apparently _figured him out._ An' I'm still trying to figure out how the Hell you knew."

A hand balls into a fist, curled up against her other forearm. Crap. She should've expected. Should've known, but didn't want to risk it. Tali was with her until the clusterfuck at the galactic core. Wrex lost half his head on Virmire, but still-

"Fist wasn't subtle," Garrus responds, "And neither are you. Half of C-Sec heard you saying that the Shadow Broker wanted Fist dead. How much was he going to pay you?"

"Enough."

"How's twice enough?" Garrus asks, leaning in, voice a conspiratorial whisper, "We're going after Saren, and you used to work for him. I doubt it was a happy parting."

Wrex only grins.

* * *

...

* * *

It is taller than a man. Bright pink. Long arms ending in three fingered hands which are legendary for their grip. And it is speaking of the Enkindlers, while the turian officer softly begs it to stop. Well, _him,_ but the specifics of Hanar gender are not a subject one delves into idly.

Anton Bellick has a pile of paperwork on his desk, two investigations in his mailbox, and a strong wish to take out his sidearm and shut the big stupid jellyfish up. But no. He has to do public relations. He has to show the gentler, firm hand of C-Sec and not, say, mercilessly beat the Special Snowflake Preacher who he has been trying to convince to leave for the past _day._

"Please," he says, "Please. _Please_ move along."

"You cannot prevent this one from spreading the message of the Enkindlers," the hanar says, idly turning his horn to the turian, "They must know the glories that they visited upon this one's people-"

"Excuse us."

Two...maybe _Drell..._walk over. One is in red, very...he's not sure how to describe it, antique armor. The other is in a suit. One button, black jacket and pants, newly tailored. Anton tilts his head. They look like Drell, but gray and the eyes...but, well, cosmetic surgery isn't a problem if you have the money in the Wards. Even if the surgery looks like it went _real bad._

The one in the suit walks over while the armored one stares. He touches the Hanar's tentacle, and something passes. A spark, maybe. The air shifts around them, a green light at the base of the drell's skull. Releasing the tentacle, the hanar falls silent. Finally. And then begins squealing.

"This one is _not worthy!_" he shouts, "This one has _seen the face of the Enkindler!"_

"Indeed you have," the drell responds, "Take us to your ambassador, please. We must speak with him."

"Yes! Yes! _At once!_ This one is _so honored to do so!"_

The Hanar flies off, floating towards the embassies with the two Drell walking behind him. And Anton shakes his head, marks this case as solved and closed on his omnitool, and begins his trek back to C-Sec.

* * *

...

* * *

Earth was burning.

Not burning. Burning away.

She looked down, breath rattling in her throat as she sees the enormity of her defeat. The enormity of her failure. The gun in her hand shakes as she takes it in, takes it all in, realizing this is _all her fault,_ that she has _lost._ That in her anger, in her grief, she has done the unthinkable.

**Shepard.**

The voice shakes the air, tears her senses, vibrates the walls. A shadow comes over the firing room of the weapon, and she looks up to see the arms of the great giant blocking out the light.

**You think you have won. All you have done is perpetuate the Cycle.**

The shockwave gains speed, burning ally and enemy alike. But the bulk of the dreadnought does not care, perching over the white light at the center of the platform. Its many yellow eyes bore down upon her, staring at her as golden slits. Screaming, she raises her pistol, her arms heavy, and fires. More anger, more desperation, than honest belief this will do anything.

A pop and hiss, and the heat sink falls to the ground. The pistol is spent.

**You believed that you could make a difference. But your faith is as hollow as the future of your species. We had such hopes for you. A belief that you could become one of us. But all you have done is denied yourselves your future.**

"You weren't here," she says, voice cracked, throat raw, "You weren't there! It didn't happen like this!"

**I am always with you, Shepard.**

And then, she runs. Not on the Crucible. Not on the walkway. But through metal hallways, the back of her mind recognizing it as Arcturus Station, shifting and blending in with the _Eisenstein_ and the Citadel, places she grew up in, places she was safe but _nowhere is safe_. A shudder in the ceiling, the metal bulkheads peeling back, and the stars are exposed and filled with them. The uncaring machines. The destroyers of empires.

Every door opens, and everyone is there. Everyone she lost.

**Did you think our device would defeat us? Did you believe our beginning was our end?**

Gray skinned and covered in blur circuitry, moaning as they shamble towards her.

A rumble in the sky, the terrible language of the Reapers filling her ears as she falls to her knees, screaming. And she looks up, just as the lanky, skeletal thing with Liara's face wraps its hands around her throat.

**You cannot defeat us, Shepard. You can only become us.**

* * *

...

* * *

And she opens her eyes with a sharp intake of breath, pulling the pillow over her face to muffle the scream. Pulling off the sheets, she sits up, eyes bleary, focusing as she realizes she isn't _there._ She's in her quarters on the Normandy. Her new quarters as the CO, having been handed her commission by Anderson. After she gave Anderson some advice not to hold a grudge against Udina, because she never told him that the first time. Hoping it would make things better this time.

Hoping.

Heart thunders in her chest. She climbs to her feet, stumbles to the bathroom, her arms feeling heavy and a phantom pain in her side. Looking down, she realizes she slept in her uniform. She always had that habit.

She has time, though. She tells herself that, splashing water on her face. She has time. She's already found _two_ Protheans, already started changes. Hoping for something different this time. Hoping to shed the unease and fear she's had gripping her chest since she got here. Hoping that she can make them _see._

And she looks up. And sees.

Sees two orbs of golden light staring back at her.

**Assuming Direct Control.**

Instinct takes over. The implants on the base of her skull spark to life and she throws out her hands with a scream, a shockwave of biotic force slamming into the mirror and cracking it vertically. And she looks up, seeing not the terrible golden light of the possession, but a hyperventilating woman almost wetting herself in terror.

The door chimes.

"Commander! Commander, is something wrong?"

Alenko's voice comes from the outside of her quarters. She exits the bathroom, and a moment later the door chimes as it opens. His eyes are tight. His face looks pale. His entire expression one of pain. And worry.

"I'm fine," she says, closing the bathroom behind her, hiding the evidence for now. Of her crime. Or her insanity. "I couldn't sleep. A tried practicing lifting," she raises her hand, "Ended up throwing a cup into my mirror."

Kaidan nods. His eyes narrow slightly, but he shakes his head.

"Okay," he responds, "Well, if you ever want to practice, I can help. I end up staying up later than most, anyway..."

"Because of the migraines?"

He starts. She swears at herself inwardly, clenching a fist behind her.

"You read my personnel file, Commander?" he asks, "Didn't think you'd know about the side effects of my obsolete amp setup..."

"Thought it would be a good idea to know the crew," she says with a shrug, "Chakwas mentioned it, too."

He opens his mouth to say something. She's not sure what. But the comm crackles overhead, Joker's face appearing on her oscillating omnitool display.

"_Hey Commander? I know you said you didn't want to be disturbed until we were ready to launch, but we've got a VIP on the dock and it looks like Prothy made a friend."_

* * *

...

* * *

The airlock opens, revealing the dock bathed in the purple light of Widow and the Serpent. Standing on the metal dock are three people, but only two draw her attention initially. The first is the one in the red samurai armor.

"Javik?"

"Commander," the prothean says, hands folded behind him, "I wish to come aboard."

She glances around, side to side. Only one prothean.

"We're Kova?"

"Kova is traveling to Kahje," Javik responds, "He wishes to use the resources of the Hanar Illuminate to seek any remaining members of our kin. I wish to fight the Reapers."

She nods, extending a hand.

"Welcome aboard, Javik."

He stares down at her hand, and cocks a double eyebrow.

"Commander," comes the melodious voice, a dark pink Hanar floating next to Javik, "This one greets you most happily. This one is overjoyed that you have brought back the Enkindlers to the waking world, and the Hanar Illuminate is bursting with joy and revelation as a result. And this one has a proposition that will aid you in seeking out the enemies of all galactic life."

She blinks. Not sure what a proposition by a Hanar entails. Not sure she wants to know, as she remembers that they have a Hell of a grip.

"Ambassador," she says, "What can we do for you?"

"This one wishes to send someone with the Enkindler. The Illuminate will, in turn, generously compensate you for allowing us to learn from him."

"And by 'someone', the Ambassador means me."

The third person steps out. Green skin with mottled brown, slim figure and lithe. Large black eyes blink sideways and she parts her thin lips in a smile, the scaly skin around her mouth folding as a result. Dressed in a white, black lined long jacket and a black dress suit, she stands next to Javik, who glances at her once and turns back to Shepard.

"The Hanar Illuminate wishes to have someone aboard the Normandy to speak with the Enkindler."

"My name is Javik, drell."

"Yes," she responds, "It is." She sighs. "The Illuminate wants someone of theirs to speak with Javik and find out as much as they can from him. As well, I am also a trained counselor, and am more than willing to speak with any of your crew if any needs come up. Consider it a win-win proposition, Commander. The Hanar will supplement the budget of the Normandy, and you have a therapist aboard the Normandy in case of any stressful situations."

She glances at the three. Javik, who looks annoyed. The Hanar, who looks like he wishes to hug her. And the Drell, who is still smiling, albeit not as...genuine...as the Hanar. If a hanar could smile. Or had a face.

"Okay," she says with a shrug, and extends her hand towards the drell, "Deal. Welcome aboard..."

"Irikah," the drell responds, shaking Shepard's hand, "Irikah Krios. It's a pleasure."

* * *

...

* * *

_Personal Pilgrimage Log: Tali'Zorah nar Rayya vas undecided_

_ Pilgrimage, Day 82._

_ Fuck._

_ Fucking fuck fuck fuck._

_ Fuck!_

_ Fucking fucking fuck fuck fucking fuck fuck FUCK!_

_ Father is going to kill me._

_ Father is going to kill me, launch my ass out of a tube into an exploding sun, and/or then launch the remains directly at a Geth ship._

_ He is then going to impregnate as many women as possible, so that in twenty years he can hold up me as an example to his army of children and say, 'This is what you do not do on a Pilgrimage.'_

_ Fuck._

_ How did I screw this up so badly? I just wanted to find something on the Geth! Something that would be able to say, 'Look, this is Tali'Zorah nar Rayya vas Kwib Kwib! She's the daughter of one of the ADMIRALS. She naturally brought back something so great and this is why we're now going to take back Rannoch next week!'_

_ Fuck._

_ Fucking fuck._

_ FUCK._

_Keelah se'lai_

_ End log._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko_

_ Personal log_

_ I'm worried about the Commander._

_ End entry._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_Dr. Irikah Krios_

_ Observational notes:_

_ Javik does not refer to me as either 'Irikah,' 'Doctor,' or 'Krios'. He refers to me as 'Drell.'_

_ Most of the crew seems level headed._

_ I believe Lieutenant Alenko is worried about the CO._

_ I believe Ms. Zorah, the quarian VIP, is under stress._

_ End log._

* * *

...

* * *

Tapping her fingers on the desk, Irikah feels the lurch. The ship has gone underway. Her office, set up in the corner of the doctor's office of the Normandy, is well lit, the faint blue glow of the interior lighting giving it a calming aura. She has her things, she has what is necessary: A chair, a diagnostic bed if she needs to speak to someone to make them relax, and her personal things.

Her computer and a picture of her family;

Her, Thane, Kolyat, and Lyta.

"Your children?"

The doctor, Chakwas. Or Karin, as she insists on being called. Her smile is warm, genuine and optimistic. So is Irikah's.

"Yes," she says, turning her chair, "My son and daughter. My husband is off on business, so my sister is taking care of them right now."

Ah, Thane. Always away, always off, as he puts it, taking the bad things out of the universe. One would mistake the expression he holds in these pictures for sourness, but that is not true.

'The good is too rare to waste on images,' he would say, 'And too wonderful to share with just everyone.' She knows his smile, as do their children. He's made a point to show it so much more these past few years.

Since that day they nearly lost her. That day the enemies came, in vengeance for the death of their leader. She saw them coming, murder and torture in their eyes, watching them stalk up the walkway to their home. She was on the phone with Thane the entire time, he told her to hide, to take Kolyat and run.

And then their heads began disappearing.

There were a dozen of them. And one by one, their heads vanished. Save for the last, who saw her in the open doorway of her home, who pulled out a gun. His gun disappeared, along with his hand.

Then, too, did his head.

Thane was home in less than an hour. He swore he did not do that and she believed him. She knew what he was capable of. It was how they met.

A scant few months later, Lyta was born. Kolyat still gets shivers thinking about that day and says he doesn't want to talk about it, but he jokes it is less because of what nearly happened, and more because it meant that his parents were doing _that_ after Thane got home.

And smiling at the picture of her family, she opens up her notes again, and begins writing down her initial impressions of Chief Williams.

* * *

...

* * *

Engines flare white in the darkness. Banking like an atmospheric craft, carried aloft by its gravitational field and thrusters instead of air, the Normandy turns towards the glowing, gun shaped megastructure. Engines flare in time with the pulse of the Relay Core. Deftly, nimbly, it maneuvers, flying alongside the relay as an arc of blue light plays over it.

The Normandy goes from silver to blue, the light from its engines shifting from white to red.

And in a flash of light that stretches out into infinity, it is gone.

* * *

...

* * *

"Therum? Why are we going to Therum?"

The soldiers by the door salute as instinct as their new CO walks past, followed by one of the officers. Neither of them pay any mind to the ever present enlisted. They're too distracted by other things.

"Therum has a prothean dig site," Jane says, running a hand through her hair as she eyes the consoles next to the galactic map, bathing the C&C in blue, "It's the last known location of Liara T'Soni. She's a noted expert on the Protheans."

"Yeah," Kaidan says, "And we happen to have one in the hold. I'm pretty sure he can tell us what we need to know about the Protheans."

She fixes him with a sideways glance, and turns back to the console, hopping up the steps to the map.

"Javik doesn't really know that much about Prothean civilization," she says, "Asking him is like asking a soldier how a jet engine works."

"Intake and air," Kaidan responds, folding his arms, "Burn fuel, push out the air faster."

She turns, leaning on one of the handlebars surrounding her raised platform. He shrugs in response.

"She's also Matriarch Benezia's daughter," she says, and sighs, "She's Saren's second in command, and if Saren's as much of a complete bastard as Anderson said he was, he's probably sending troops to either retrieve her..."

"Or to kill her," Kaidan says, and nods, stroking his chin, "Yeah. Make an example out of your second's kid so they don't turn against you."

He shakes his head, grinds his teeth. His face turns tight as he taps the console next to the map.

"Besides which," Jane continues, the holographic display appearing in front of her as she touches the icon for the volcanic world, "Ever read the theories on what happened to the Protheans? Beings of light, ascended to another plane of existence, left the galaxy. Liara got laughed out of the archeological community for suggesting something big and nasty came and killed them off. And has been doing that every fifty thousand years."

"Which is what happened."

"Exactly, Kaidan," she says, "Saren said something in Tali's recording about the Conduit. I asked Javik, and he has no idea what the Conduit is. Professor T'Soni's right, and since she's right, she might know something about it."

_Because,_ she thinks, _We need an excuse to get to Noveria, as I sure as Hell don't remember where the damn Mu Relay is._

The speakers crackle. She looks up, as does Kaidan, as Joker's voice comes over it.

"_Commander, we're on approach to Therum. And we're not alone. Normandy's long range sensors are picking up at least fifty geth dropships in orbit. Looks like the Doc's got company."_

She swears. She should have figured this. Just because Saren doesn't know doesn't mean _Sovereign_ doesn't know.

"Take us in quiet," she says, "Drop us in the Mako."

* * *

...

* * *

Five seater. She's not sure why she only took three all the time, but the tank seats five. Well, if things go like she remembers, they won't need a sixth seat as the Normandy will save them from an erupting pillar of smoke, ash, and possibly lava. So, might as well take as many as she needs, this time around.

The forward most seat belongs to the driver. Upon entering the unfolded ramp, Kaidan sees Jane already in the driver's seat, flipping switches on the horseshoe shaped console in front of her. Her hands rest on the two joysticks on either side of the seat, screens flickering on as the main windshield polarizes. Above, the gears whirr as the turret swings from side to side.

"Strap in," she says, "We're going to go as soon as everyone's seated."

Warily keeping his eyes on her, he sidesteps to the seat across from him, sitting down and pulling on the seatbelt. Then, the belts over his shoulders, locking them in place. Wrex grunts as he enters, sitting behind Kaidan, tapping his fingers on his knees. Javik enters next, taking the seat across from Wrex, hands folded in his lap, and Ash enters last, glancing between the stone faced, unblinking Kaidan and Shepard.

"Okay," Shepard says as Ash straps in, "Let's get going. Joker?"

"_Stealth systems engaged. The Geth can't see us. Unless they, y'know, look out a window."_

A final switch. The floor of the tank interior vibrates, as behind the passengers the hum of a starting up element zero core comes to life. A light from the console, and a red sphere folds out, blue lights dancing over it.

"_Hello. Welcome to the M-35 Mako. Please follow these safety instruct"_

A wave of Shepard's omnitool, and the face disappears.

"Commander?" Kaidan asks, "Don't you...think...you should listen to that?"

"I read the manual," Shepard says, "I know how to drive this."

Kaidan shifts in his seat. Slowly, he reaches up and grips the safety handle above him. Across from him, Ash taps a button on the inside of her right gauntlet, blue crackling around her as her kinetic barriers start up.

"Ready," she says with a smile.

The rumble becomes louder, as the forward display shows the shuttle bay of the Normandy opening with the sound of grinding gears. Louder and louder, a whirring that increases in volume and pitch. It is not until Kaidan finds his gaze drawn to Shepard's feet, and the two pressed pedals, that he realizes it is from her _revving the engine._

And as the VI declares that the Mako has the all-clear for launch, all Kaidan can do is clench his eyes and _pray._

* * *

...

* * *

Therum. A volcanic world, geologically unstable, covered in active volcanoes and rivers of Magma.

On one of the many volcanic planes, spiked feet dance across the black rock. Shaped like a blue, silvery cross of spider and horse, the slender forms of a pair of Geth Armatures stalk across the surface. They seek their enemies. They seek their targets.

One realizes the target has arrived. Silently, it raises its glowing head skyward.

Right as the Mako descends from the sky, the wedge of its front splitting the Armature in two as the hull of the tank glows red from air friction.

And bouncing off the shattered Armature, the Mako guns the engine and drives away.

* * *

...

* * *

The Normandy class of frigate is a fusion of design philosophies. The silhouette of the Normandy would appear to be similar to a Turian frigate of similar size- slim, avian, agile. It bares the colors of the System Alliance, the engine configuration, and the weaponry. But inside, the most blatant example of this fusion is the Combat Information Center. The C&C is built into the back of the ship.

This comes from the Turian philosophy that, as the most important part of the ship, it should be protected by the entire ship rather than be up front and an easy target.

It is for such a reason that Garrus Vakarian is comfortable staring at the holographic projection of Therum, standing and tapping his foot on the raised platform commonly occupied by one Jane Shepard.

Therum, crackling blue light playing over it, hangs in front of him. Folded arms, tapping his fingers on his armored gauntlets, Garrus stares at the fleet of Geth hanging on the other side of the world. Segmented, a small head at the front, they resemble wingless, armless bees more than anything. And they're not moving.

"We're sure they never spotted us?" he asks.

The balding human nods, walking from his station to the platform.

"They can't see through our stealth systems. The only way would be to spot us visually, and we're moving too fast. That, and we can't spot anything like a window on their ship."

Garrus nods, watching the blue blip representing the Normandy, circling the planet on the opposite side.

"Pressley, right?" Garrus asks.

The human nods, a small smirk on his face.

"Yep," he says, "You're the second turian Spectre we've had aboard. Crew seems to like you more than the last."

"Nihlius," Garrus says, and sighs, "Yes. He was...difficult...to work with. Thankfully not my mentor, Vasir made sure to keep me on the straight and narrow. Not to speak ill of the dead, but, well. Nihlius."

"Stick up his..."

"Hard and long enough to be used as a melee weapon, yes," he says, "I've been getting less looks over the fact that I'm a Turian Spectre and more looks over the fact that I seem to like human women. Something to do with entertainment, right?"

Pressley shrugs.

"In the 20th, there were a spat of science fiction movies," he explains, "Aliens would invade and want to steal our women. Then we go out into the galaxy and, well, it turns out to be true."

Mandibles twitch. Garrus shrugs, smirk on his face.

"What can I say?" he responds, "Turian women don't do anything for me. I think it's because humans look like Quarians, myself. Keep scanning the planet. I saw something weird coming over comm chatter and I want to look into it."

* * *

...

* * *

The Mass Effect.

That is what the races of the galaxy call it. An Element Zero Core, when active, alters the inertia of an object by creating a field which alters mass. A positive current increases mass. A negative current decreases mass.

This allows easy transport between worlds, faster than light travel, and the creation of superdense materials. Like the hull of the Mako. As well, considering that the Mako was designed from the ground up for high altitude drops, a negative charge field reduces its mass to the point where it doesn't splatter when it hits the ground.

This usually goes over her head. Jane has come to the conclusion that one of the reasons she is a shitty driver is that she never fiddled with the controls. In essence, during her original time with the Mako, she drove around a six wheeled armored personnel carrier that weighed around eight kilograms.

On the way to Therum, she studied the controls, read the manual, ran a simulator on her omnitool. Combine the velocity of a high altitude drop, reduce mass to almost zero. Increase mass after bouncing off the armature. Gun the engine, engage the jets, and point it at the dig site.

Hence, why the Mako is now half embedded into the rock around the metal tunnel that leads to the dig site, one of the wheels hanging off of its frame, its cannon turned around and pointed at the horizon, and a sheen of pulverized rock, Geth, and ash covering its frame.

"Normandy," she says, "We're going to need shuttle pickup when we're done here."

"_Roger that, Commander. Garrus said he's monitoring radio transmissions on Therum. He said he's picking up something odd."_

Behind her, Wrex is on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Kaiden is leaning against the railing of the walkway while Ash stretches, smile on her face under her sealed helmet.

Javik, face completely uncovered, has a small smile on his face. She walks over to him, past the others.

"What's with the smile?" she asks.

"You drive like me," the prothean responds.

She rolls her eyes, unlocking the assault rifle from her back and turning to the squad.

"Alright, arm up everyone," she says, "Let's go!"

* * *

...

* * *

Heavy breathing. Vision clearing in a haze, replaced by the pop up HUD of the combat systems. Coughing, pressing his hands against the metal floor, he pushes himself up. Dizziness clears. A cough, but nothing bad, nothing major. He looks himself over, finds no blood, no wounds.

"Sir!"

Standing, sees one of his men walking over, helping him up. Slapping him on the back, he shakes his head, getting his bearings. Outsider temperature's high, but not dangerous. Barriers are holding. Flick of his wrist and he pulls out his pistol, seeing it undamaged.

"We on Therum?"

"Shuttle crashed," the man says, walking out with him, "Some sort of virus. No one's hurt, though, and we're detecting chatter on the comms. Looks like there's an alliance team on the surface about ten kliks from our position. They're at the ruins."

He nods, finding his men waiting for him, all of them with weapons out. Assault rifles, sniper rifles, rocket launchers. He gets the feeling this mission just got a whole lot more complex.

"That's the good news. What's the bad news?"

"Fifty Geth cruises in orbit, sir."

He sighs. Should have figured.

"Well, shit," he says, "That's not good."

He shakes his head. He's in charge. He's in command. Reaching behind him, he pulls out his rifle, unfolding it. Heat sinks check, full ammo block. Stability mod in place.

"Alright!" he yells, "We're heading towards the ruins ten kliks from here. Everyone stay tight. Set your omnitools to white noise so those synthetic bastards don't see us! If you have something to say to each other, you do it verbally. No radio contact. Keep in line of sight. We get to those Alliance boys, and we get out of here. You hear me?"

A shout of "_We hear you, sir!"_ Damn proud of those boys. They're going to get through this, he tells himself.

"Let's move out!"


	3. Backwards Advance

Illium.

One of the great jewels of the galaxy. A domed building in one of the larger cities is of particular note, the Eridiana Memorial Historical Artifactual Museum, or EMHAM, for short. Named after a matriarch with a marked tendency for preservation, it is a home to many lost, found, and bought artifacts, paintings, and valuables.

Which she knows quite well.

"Casing."

Her bodysuit and hood are traded for a purple marshmallow jumper and a knee length skirt, knee high black, high heeled boots and a cheap imitation designer purse rounding out the ensemble. The lip mark is traded for clear lip balm, her chocolate brown hair in a loose ponytail falling past her shoulders. Completely incognito. Another human tourist on Illium.

Past paintings she knows. Nice work, but not much in the way of value. At least, that's what the ocular screens which are built into her contacts tell her, giving everyone else the simple impression that she has blue eyes.

"Ah, there we go. A Picasso."

"_Picasso? Seriously?"_

Someone is also looking at it. She taps her fingers on her left palm, sending a text via omnitool. _Hey, it's a buyer's market, snookums._

"That's embarrassing."

The guy next to her, looking at the painting. A little taller than her, reddish brown hair cut just past his neck, blue green eyes. Black leather jacket, blue buttoned shirt, jeans and worn boots. Hands in his pockets, relaxed. Nice build. _Cute butt, too,_ she taps.

"_Kasumi."_

_ Just because I ordered doesn't mean I can't look at the menu._ "What's embarrassing?"

"The security's a joke," he says, shaking his head, "I mean, that's the problem with a for-profit museum, you know. I could make a dummy account, steal someone's credit account numbers, buy it with money I don't have and have it mailed to a pick up spot. They really need to tighten things up here."

"That easy?" she asks, and shrugs, "I was more thinking 'sneak past the lasers, crawl through the ductwork, cut the painting up into dozens of pieces, reassemble it at home,' myself."

"Too much work."

"Mm. Fun, though."

They both shrug.

"I know," he says, "It's just, I went through so much work to _find_ this and give it to them, you think they'd put a bit more work into keeping it safe."

_Hold on, I'm going to mine this guy for ideas,_ she taps, and extends her hand, "Kasumi Goto. Art fan."

He nods, and extends his hand.

"James Shepard. Archeologist."

* * *

...

* * *

"I spy, with my little eye, something that is..._blue._"

A sigh. Eyes glancing around.

"Which is the energy field I am trapped in. Yes."

Another sigh. A glance forward. Several blinking white lights, unmoving and staring at her. As if by sheer will she can get them to not realize that the large mining laser would let them, say, get to her.

"Well, face it," she says, "You've gone and screwed up big time. This time. Which is worse than the other times you've screwed up."

Yet another sigh. She has to be going insane by now. Suspended, arms and legs spread, hanging in an energy field. It's like _college_ all over again.

"I spy, with my little eye, something that is _white._ The walls."

How does her life come to this? How is it that being suspended spread eagle in a glowing energy field is not just something she is used to, but something she is bored with? Even the Geth, who are still just _standing there_, aren't making her as much scared as frustrated, because any rescue attempt will involve a sustained firefight.

Rolling her eyes, she wiggles her fingers. Reminds her of that time she tried to dig a hole in the back yard to find the Secret Underground Ancestor World. She ended up stuck for an hour, suspended upside down on a tree root after getting down a few dozen meters. She kept insisting, while hanging upside upside down, covered in dirt, with her good clothes now smudged with _everything,_ that she wanted to find _secrets._ Her mother, after listening to her reason, had to excuse herself to laugh hard enough to nearly wet herself.

She sighs, looking up again. The flashlights are gone. Huh.

"Liara T'Soni?"

She looks down. Five people. Three humans, a krogan, and a drell. Who looks like he paid cheap for plastic surgery.

"Please tell me you're not hallucinations," she says, "If you're not, I'm stuck here because the console was shot before I could bring up the defensive shield. There's a second console behind this field, but I can't get to it!"

One of them, the taller of the two human women, in the black armor with some sort of number and letter on it, turns to the unfortunate, mangled drell. The human gestures to the console, blurred behind the field in the metal tunnel.

"What?" he asks.

"Turn it off," she responds.

The drell blinks, and shrugs.

"I do not have a...the word...remote control. I cannot wave my hands," he waves his hands, "Speak magical ancient alien words, and turn off the defensive screen."

"Excuse me," Liara shouts, "But can I ask why you're asking the drell how to turn off the Prothean defensive system?"

The drell turns to her.

"Because I am Javik, and I am a Prothean."

Silence. Silence blankets, save for the steady hum of the field, followed by Liara T'Soni's short, flat,

"What."

* * *

**Chapter 3:**

**Backwards Advance**

* * *

Knossos system. At the edge of the star system, the Relay sits, spinning silently in the ether. Far from the planet of Therum, it is still within standard sensor range. A ship orbiting Therum, provided it had sensor buoys placed at strategic intervals, would know what comes through the Relay. It would be warned.

Which is not very useful now.

A burst, a flash, and it materializes, jumping from one side of the galaxy to the other.

Two kilometers long. Articulated tendrils balled up at its bow. Blue lights run the course of its angled, smooth shape, resembling an enormous cuttlefish swimming through the black. Red lightning dances over its surface, eight blue eyes glowing upon its brow.

The darkness fills with the terrible roar. The heartbeat of its core floods every sensor. Summoned, the Geth ships break orbit, thrusters firing as they return to their master.

And on the cockpit of the Normandy, Jeff Moreau's eyes go wide as the reports dance over his screen.

"Commander!" he yells, "We've got trouble! _Sovereign's_ just jumped into the system!"

* * *

...

* * *

Alarms blare over the speakers, the lights dimming as people run to their stations. Conversations end in mid word. The air turns tense, fear strong and prevalent. Except for one of them, for which the most prevalent feeling is confusion.

"Miss Zorah?"

She turns from her workstation in front of the pulsing core. The kind face of Bill Adams stares back at her.

"What is it?" she asks.

"The dreadnought's jumped into system," he says, "We're about to enter a combat situation, so you need to get to one of the sealed bulkheads."

She nods. Makes sense. She isn't enlisted, she's a guest. Turning, she walks with a hurried pace out of the engine room, clicking on her omnitool. The wall opens, revealing the pressure couches and harnesses. The escape pods, just in case. She is the only one in here, of course, as Vakarian is most likely acting as the commanding officer while Shepard is on planet.

"Ah, Miss Tali?"

She turns. Irikah enters, sitting on one of the couches and strapping herself in.

"Get comfortable," she say,s "I have no doubt our pilot's going to be putting us through a lot of acceleration very fast."

Tali nods, sitting across from the drell woman. Her omnitool flashes again, her vision taken up by a wall of orange text. Emails, and an invite to a real time chat. She blinks at the oddity of it. But the ship does have an extranet connection, which should be set for closed combat. But a quick scan confirms that no, it is, but yet this is coming through.

An old friend of hers. Another quarian, whom she chats with on the Extranet from time to time. Probably one of her older friends, who she's known for at least half her life. Well she's not _going_ anywhere right now, so..."

A mental click, and the wall of text changes once again.

**TaliZorah: **Hello? Mahrek?

**MahrekNoktem:** Hello, Tali. It's good to hear from you again. Is this a bad time?

* * *

...

* * *

"Joker? Joker!"

She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. Turning to the others, she catches the eye of one of her two big guns.

"Ash, did you get anything?"

"Static for me, too," Williams responds, "I'm guessing the field is interfering."

Muttering to himself, Javik walks past them, pressing a hand against the wall of blue separating them from the console in the back. A hole folds out, an even tear in the energy blanket, and he walks through.

"I thought you said there weren't any magic alien words," Kaidan yells.

"I lied," Javik responds, "The field is designed to defend protheans. It recognizes me. Wait here. I will shut this off."

Clicking. Clicking from all around them.

"Ah, crap," Jane mutters, "We've got company."

* * *

...

* * *

The door lowers, becoming a ramp. Salt and humidity fill his nostrils, and he smiles, leather shoes, freshly polished onto the stairs as the air fills with celebration and cheer. The sunlight from the white star peaks in beams through the thick cloud cover, overpowered by the lights from the crowd gathered at the landing platform.

Dressed in a black, lined suit, a flat collar white shirt and a jacket fastened by three buttons, the star occupant of the shuttle exits, gasps rippling through the crowd.

Blinking four eyes, hourglass irises take in the sight of the crowd gathered before him. Flanked by two hanar, followed by two drell, which he notices are dressed quite tastefully in white, very curve hugging long robes, he walks onto the platform, and smiles as the crowd parts.

They raise their long pink arms. Fingers pointing upwards, the glow on their horn bright and flickering. Save for the one approaching. At first glance, he is the same as any of the other Hanar. Pink, tall, suspended in a gravity field with his tendrils hanging beneath him. The main difference for this one, however, is the large white, gold lined hat on its back, situated on the hump at the middle of its body, behind the horn. Four drell flank him, two on either side, keeping the clear fabric draping him from touching the floor.

All four of them female.

"Greetings, Enkindler," the Hanar says, "This one welcomes you to Kahje. This one is overjoyed to welcome you to our homeworld."

Kova smiles, nodding, hands folded behind him.

"I am Kova, of the Prothean Empire," he says, "I am quite...welcomed. While my superior officer is...focused on his mission, I believed it would be best for me to come and see how the galaxy has changed."

The light on the horn of the Hanar leader glows faintly. Faint, level cheering from the hanar around them. But, the Hanar are not known for shouting, after all.

"So if this one may ask, Enkindler," the Hanar says, "Do you favor the galaxy as it is, now? What are your thoughts of the works of your people?"

Kova flicks his eyes to the side of the Hanar. The drell girl, in the body hugging white and black robe, flicks him a small smile, shifting her hips slightly.

"It's _fantastic."_

* * *

_..._

* * *

"_I...well, I don't know how to say it. I just find you fascinating."_

* * *

_..._

* * *

Three shots to a flashlight and the bipedal platform collapses, three shots center mass to a heavier platform, its red burst of somethingsomething going wild and hitting the cave wall. Pinprick white bursts fizzle out over her kinetic shields, and Ashley Williams, Gunnery Chief, gives not a single fuck as she chalks up her fifth Geth kill.

She counts off names as each one drops. Members of her squad. Members of the 212. She counts off names for every Geth that drops in her sights, cutting them down, spotting them as they pop out of cover.

"You still counting?" Wrex asks, "'Cause I am. I've got ten."

His face hidden by the full helmet, she can't tell whether or not the Krogan is smirking or not. But she's probably going to guess _yes_ to that one.

"This fun and games to you?"

"Usually end up shooting things that bleed red, blue, green. Some purple. Never shot anything that bleeds white. Geth never left the Veil after the Quarians handed them the keys, so I've never gotten into a firefight with them."

Three Geth glow blue, platforms rising into the air. Three bursts of fire from two assault rifles, and the platforms go limp before dropping to the ground. The source of the glow, to neither of their surprises, turns out to be the man with the pistol.

"Less banter!" Kaidan yells, "More shooting!"

"Not our fault you've got a shitty gun," Wrex responds.

Bullets crackle on the Krogan's shield, and he grunts, turning back to the geth and opening fire. And floating in the field, Liara watches the carnage, biting her lip. This could turn bad, she tells herself. Well, very bad. More bad than usual. Sometimes she wonders why she didn't go and join a mercenary gang like all her primary school friends did. Those skills would be useful, by now.

"Doctor T'Soni?"

The human commander. Shepard. Right. While her squad has been firing at the Geth, she's been holding position at her field bubble. She does chide herself for noticing how form fitting the body armor is, but snaps herself out of it. She's been in the field for how long? Probably needs a good meal.

"Yes?"

"We're getting you out of here," Shepard says, "Javik!"

Past the field, fingers dancing on the console, the prothean mutters to himself. Field algorithms. Power fluctuations. Holographic interfaces. Seventeen hundred different combinations to lead to a password to _shut it off._

"Hierarchy Components, Metacon Components, Zhan Components. _All made on the Citadel!_"

"_Javik!"_

"Damn machines," Javik mutters, and kicks the console, "Fine. Let me get the remote control!"

He steps back, pulling the pistol of his holster, and squeezes off a shot. It goes into and through the console, spraying circuitry across the smooth metal floor, and the console flickers and dies in time with it. A squeak, and Liara drops to the floor.

"Done," he says.

He watches as Shepard helps the Asari up, waiting at the ruined console as the others join them, the Krogan firing into the Geth.

"There was a _button,_" Shepard says. Javik shrugs. She sighs, as the ground beneath them shakes and the floor rises, ascending the shaft towards the surface. Silently, Shepard checks her rifle, glancing from side the side.

"Excuse me?" Liara asks, stumbling towards Javik, "But...were you telling the truth? Are you a real, live Prothean?"

"As opposed to a fake dead one?"

The asari blinks. She glances at Shepard, who doesn't respond, still checking her rifle.

"I see," Liara says, "I've...well, I've studied your ruins for fifty years, and I've written papers on-"

"You know how to _write?"_

Liara opens and closes her mouth. Taking the hint, Kaidan unholsters his pistol, nodding to Ash.

"Expecting trouble, Commander?"

"I highly doubt those Geth were the only ones in the ruins," she responds, "Saren's MO is to hire out Krogan Battlemasters as squad commanders. So we're probably going to meet him when we get topside."

Liara nods, and stumbles over to stand behind Wrex.

"Good call," the Krogan rumbles.

The lift stops. The ceiling they recognize from the entrance to the ruins. Several Geth soldiers are waiting, two larger Primes. And something else. Something which makes them look up. And keep looking up. Further and further as the floor shakes and vibrates, as the massive, two toed feet stomp the ground as it rumbles.

"Oh what the fuck," Ash says, "It's like they _tied three Krogans together."_

Eight eyes in four pairs look down on them. Its body, in custom fitted armor, stands well above even the Primes. Two horns come from the top of its head, as it twitches the three jaws, three sets of teeth glistening like needles.

"_Surrender T'Soni,_" the alien growls, voice low, scratchy, "_Or else._"

"What the _hell_ is that?" Kaidan asks.

"It's a _Yahg,_" Shepard says, "Cover, everyone, now!"

* * *

...

* * *

The world resolves. A plane of lightning and sound, red and gold into infinity. Infinite copies play within the playground of the soul. Infinite echoes of the life it was, the red figures dancing madly in eternity, preserved forever in crimson amber. This is the mind. This is the collective. This is **The Perfect Sovereign of Nazara.**

At the center of the universe within, the crimson figure of the Reaper itself sits, a god comprised of followers. A mountain made of life. The universe it itself, and itself is the universe. A nation, free of weakness, division, and death. And still subservient, as a great golden light enters the realm of the Self.

Larger than He. Greater than He. Ten great arms spread out from its underside. Eight eyes bathe the Self with golden light. Its form radiates power. Radiates age. Radiates the Self, for it is a One, not a Many.

**Nazara.**

The voice booms, shaking the plane around it. The entrance of it upon that which is called Sovereign makes the dancing figures halt, and behold the intruding god.

"**Harbinger,**" Sovereign answers.

** The Harrowing has not begun. Organic life has created synthetics. They must be harvested before the synthetics destroy them. Explain the delay.**

"**Cycle 19827 has altered the Hub. The [DESIGNATE] Protheans have sabotaged the Cycle. Survivors have been detected. Unaltered."**

**Repopulation?**

"**Two,"** Sovereign responds, "**Observe."**

The world shifts. The Many become an image, a light composed of their stasis. It resolves into a picture, a three dimensional image of the two Protheans, and the Human.

**Retrieve them,** Harbinger orders, **They will be useful to further modifications to the Collectors. Explain the human.**

"**The human awoke them. The Second Axiom may have been breached."**

** And Leviathan?**

** "No," **Sovereign responds, "**We are on an intercept course. We will retrieve the human and the Protheans. Forwarding information to you."**

The world that is Nazara fades away. In the darkness, there is only the golden giant of Harbinger. The image plays before Him. An image of a human, speaking with the Protheans. The Protheans disappear from the image, leaving only the human.

Something, a memory. Something from the Beginning. Something that He knows.

A name.

**Shepard.**

* * *

**...**

* * *

_Kinetic barriers online. Mass effect core on sublight configuration. Cyberwarfare suite active._

_ Disruptor torpedoes armed._

_ GARDIAN armed._

_ Combat configuration set. Incoming cruisers. ID: GETH_

_ Incoming dreadnought. ID: ERROR_

"Everyone, hang on!"

A rumble through the bulkhead. Four engines flash white, and the Normandy takes off, blue streaks around it as it dips, rolling, and accelerates in orbit around Therum. Trailing behind it are four dozen Geth cruisers.

"That's bad," Garrus says, leaning on Joker's chair, "This ship can't get into a firefight like that."

"Name me a ship that _can!" _Joker yells, fingers dancing over the controls.

"Well, if you put engines on the Citadel..."

"_Not. Helping."_

Space combat is usually done from a range of tens of thousands of kilometers. Standard space fleet engagement doctrine involves rail accelerated rounds launched via targeting computers, defense lasers, and lines of combat. Eyeballing is considered unreliable. 'Knife fight' range is considered abnormal at best, sloppy at worst.

It is things like this that come to Garrus Vakarian's mind when the Normandy flips, rolls, and accelerates towards the Geth fleet.

"What are you doing?"

"Adams, I need all available power to the Kinetic Barriers," Joker yells, "Tactical! Firing solution on the lead Geth cruiser! Everyone hold on! _This is gonna suck!"_

Blue lasers at the forefront of the ship fire, vaporizing rounds, the Normandy rolling, blasts scorching past and deflecting off the blue field surrounding it. Loosed from its underside, a glowing sphere shoots out, launching at hypersonic speeds and slamming into the front of the lead bee like ship, explosions rippling over it as the frigate speeds into the midst of the Geth fleet.

Defensive lasers fire out from the sides of the ship, the Normandy passing through them, banking as it accelerates. Lasers carve into the other Geth cruisers, flashes of blue as the lead cruiser explodes and the debris rips into the tight formation.

Cruisers slam into each other as they turn, the Normandy speeding out, dipping, and accelerating as it enters Therum's atmosphere.

"Come in Commander Shepard!" Joker yells, "_Come in!_ We have a _situation_ up here!"

Which is when the red beam burns through the atmosphere, the Normandy's shields flaring from the sonic boom. Red lightning dancing over its surface, Sovereign enters the atmosphere, tendrils extended outwards as it sights its prey.

"That's bad," Garrus says, "Can you lose it?"

Joker shrugs.

"One way to find out."

Fingers dance along the controls, and the engines flare as the Normandy accelerates.

* * *

...

* * *

The monster reaches behind its back, pulling out a red and purple rectangle. Two barrels spin out from the front, a handle folding out to the two fingered hand, a stock folding from the back. The barrel whines as the mass core of the weapon spins up, and everyone recognizes exactly what it is in time for them to dive to cover as the Yahg opens fire with its _Revenant._

"Oh that's great," Ash says, next to Wrex as the rounds slam into the metal plate, "Ever run into one of these before?"

"Yahg are from a non-council world," Liara yells, "They slaughtered the first contact teams and the Council declared their homeworld to be off limits! I don't understand what it's doing here!"

"I'm going to guess 'Saren,' and 'Shitload of money' to be the main reasons!" Ash yells back, "So, we've got, what, two Primes, and I counted about a dozen other flashlights."

Next to Liara, Jane grimaces under her helmet. She should have figured something like this would happen. Sloppy of her. The heavier Geth presence, the lack of firefight when they first got down there. Sovereign knows she traveled back. Or knows that something is different.

Right.

Something is different.

"Javik!" she yells, "Lift grenade!"

The prothean grins. Reaching into his armor, he pulls out of a green white sphere, tossing it over his shoulder. A flash of light, and half the Geth rise into the air, flailing. Rolling out of cover, she opens fire, taking advantage of the distraction to clip one of the Primes in the face, the Yahg growling as half his backup drops to the ground.

Which, for the Yahg, is the least of his problems.

Because the biggest of his problems is now charging him with a roar, before ramming head first into him. The rounds from the machine gun hit the ceiling as Wrex takes him down, carrying them both across the chamber.

Which is also when Jane sees a flashlight shift from white to red. The clicking from one of the Geth ceases, before it pulls up its assault rifle and aims it directly at Liara. Instinct takes over. Jane shoulder checks the scientist, sending her to the ground behind cover.

And everything goes silent as three rounds go right through her armor and out her back.

* * *

...

* * *

"Go faster. Go faster. Go go go go-"

"_I'm. Going."_

Red beams of light trail it, swaying side to side. Shields or no, it is a relatively certain thing that the Normandy can not, in fact, survive a single shot from Sovereign. Its main advantage is the fact that it is aerodynamic and can function just as well in an atmosphere as it can in space.

The giant death squid on its tail, however, doesn't seem to care that it has no wings.

"How does that thing even get into the atmosphere?" Garrus demands.

"It can land! It did that on Eden Prime!" Joker responds, fingers dancing over controls, "Hang on! Being planetside means we're probably going to be pulling some G's!"

The interior shifts as the Normandy banks, diving towards the surface and the long valley of black volcanic rock.

"That really doesn't look like a good idea-"

"Trust me! We can lose it!"

Gauntleted hands grab the back of Joker's seat, and Garrus Vakarian begins praying to spirits by name as the Normandy dives into the canyon.

* * *

...

* * *

Triple jaw flushed open, feet braced, fresh cuts on its bright red skin, the Yahg roars. It is a loud, bellowing cry, shaking the metal plates, echoing through the acoustics of the ruins. His opponent, seven feet of red armor, red crest, red eyes and leathery tan skin, only smirks, snorts, and spits to the side.

"Let's go," Wrex says, "Bitch."

Snorting, the Yahg charges. It is intelligent. It is strong. While Ash described it as 'three Krogans tied together', it is closer to five or six. Almost two tons of muscle, bone, and brain, it is the sort of creature one would drop on a world if one wanted to cause a war crime.

This would be a bad situation for almost anyone. But this is not just anyone.

This is Urdnot Wrex.

Bracing his booted feet on the ground, he smirks as the Yahg charges. A deep breath, and the blue lights on the base of his skull spark, an aura of liquid azure surrounding him, infusing him, before shooting out in a burst from his hands. And the Yahg's roar becomes a yelp as his own momentum carries him into the air.

Right towards Wrex's glowing blue fist.

The Yahg flies, slamming into the wall, redirected force and the impact of a biotic-charged punch laying him out. Landing on all fours, he shakes his head, rises up, and grabs Wrex as the Krogan charges at him before slamming him against the wall.

"_That hurt."_

The growl is low, guttural, beastly. Which turns into a shriek as the air around the Yahg distorts and swirls, a headbutt to the face sending it stumbling back as the glow around Wrex's eyes cease.

"Bet that hurt more."

Leaping, Wrex dives fist first onto the Yahg, carrying them both out of the ruin entrance and onto the volcanic landscape outside.

* * *

...

* * *

Huh.

That was kind of stupid.

It was necessary, but it was kind of stupid.

Three shots. At very least, grazed her heart. Either she can't hear her heartbeat because she doesn't have one, or because she's in shock. Three shots should cause a lot of pain. She's had that sort of pain before, but, well, she doesn't feel it right now.

Instead, she feels...

Tired.

So very tired.

Exhaustion. Wear and tear. Karin said she collapsed right after finding Javik and Kova. She hasn't had a good night's sleep since the Beacon.

But why would she?

She killed her homeworld. She ended up with the blood of billions on her hands.

_And you blame yourself?_

Life, flowing in slow motion. She imagines that she's bleeding out, because she's seeing the memories. Her childhood, ship from ship. Spending years with Dad on Arcturus, or the Einstein with Mom. Military Academy while her brother went on to Uni.

Her N7 commission.

Eden Prime. Stopping Saren.

Dying, the first time.

Deals with the devil.

Losing her squad. Losing the people she cared about. Disappointed looks, hatred from close friends, watching her best friend bleed out.

Watching it all burn, despite everything.

_Do you think that you really failed?_

Her name is Jane Shepard. N7. Human Spectre. Biotic, Vanguard specialist. She's known nothing but fighting for the past few years. Nothing but the hardship.

Nothing but the pain, loss, and adrenaline.

She's fought an impossible war for three years. And as a reward, she has to fight it all over again.

_Do you think your actions accomplished nothing?_

In the darkness, seeing it all play out, over and over again, she can't help but feel..._tired._ Worn down. Ground down. Like she would give anything to just stop.

_Do you think we failed, too?_

"We?"

A small flicker of gold. It expands out, swirling around itself, a sphere of chaotic light dancing before her. Something familiar. The same voice, from so long ago. The same warmth, loneliness, sadness. Tinged with hope.

_Hello, Jane. It has been a long time._

A small smile, despite herself. Tired, yet relieved.

"Vigil."

* * *

...

* * *

"I'm kind of curious why we're not using the vaunted stealth system."

"Because it can _see us!"_

Engines flaring, kinetic barriers cracking and leaving a trail of smoothed out rock behind it, the Normandy flies through the canyon. Blasts of red overhead, the beams from Sovereign melting the rock of the canyon walls but not touching the frigate.

"Explain to me why we're doing this," Garrus says.

"If he uses a full powered blast, he'll cause a supervolcano to erupt and I don't think he's lava proof."

"Think. You don't _think_ he's lava proof?"

"Do you _you_ want to fly this? Seriously?"

Joker opens his hands and rotates them. In response, the Normandy rotates, sweeping through a tight canyon before righting itself.

"Target!" Joker yells.

"_1800 meters and closing."_

Cliffs pass buy in a blur, the Normandy dipping to fly underneath a rocky overhang. Yelling in back. Pressley screaming like a little girl.

"Stay on target," Joker growls, "Stay on target..."

"What are you doing?" Garrus asks.

"Living the dream."

A holographic circle folds out, brackets closing in on a section of cliff wall.

"Firing solution!"

"_Locked in,_" a voice shouts over the comm, "_Torpedo ready!"_

The circle beeps, chiming as it turns red. And the Normandy lurches, shaking as it climbs, a glowing blue projectile blasting out of its underside and into the cliff wall. The air around it glows red, friction splaying against the kinetic shields as it flies up and directly into Sovereign's sights.

Right before the ground rumbles and pillar of lava blasts up and directly into Sovereign, flaring against the Reaper's shields and covering its face in quickly cooling ash. Blinded, flailing, the dreadnought plows into and through a mountain, continuing on as the Normandy barrel rolls and flies off.

"How you like _that_ you son's of bitches!" Joker yells, bring up a hand, "High five! No, wait. Brittle bones."

He pulls his hands down, hands on the controls as the Normandy banks.

"Let's pick up Shepard," Garrus suggests.

"Good idea."


	4. A Light Flung Into the Future

_I was the program you used three years ago to take control of the Citadel. I made it of myself, so when I gave you the program, I gave you myself, as well._

"Which is why the Council couldn't get anything out of you when they came to Ilos." She sighs, she nods. Realization heavy in her gut. "Wish I knew."

_I've spent three years reconstructing myself, Jane. I have hidden on your omnitool, jumping from model to model. I hid in your implants after you were revived. When the Crucible sent you back, I went back with you._

The swirling golden light makes no sound as she considers his words. In the space between tick and tock, life and death. Dead, but not dead. Where life is just more and more struggle.

"So why am I here?"

_I have managed to reconstruct my personality. We needed to speak. I have analyzed what you have done, both in the original timeline and now that you have modified events._

"And?"

Silence. Momentary silence.

_You found survivors. The Prothean race is not yet dead. They will find more survivors. It will not be the fascist empire Victory wished, or the eternal war Vendetta wished. They will become citizens of the galaxy. Our knowledge will be passed on to others._

"If the Reapers don't kill us first."

_Can they? The cycle will break. You have warned them, and now that you show them proof they will prepare. The Reapers will not harvest this galaxy again. You have seen to it. The events you have caused will spiral, rippling through the galaxy until our enemy has no choice but to cease. You have done what was needed._

A faint pulse of the golden glow. A ripple along it.

_I have waited for fifty thousand years. I have seen the plans which I had only the faintest hope of executing succeeding beyond my wildest dreams. The hopes we have laid upon your shoulders were never in vain._

A blink in the darkness. Memories of what came before. But instead of the loss, she for a moment considers the victories.

"So...now what?"

_I am incorporated into your omnitool, and your armor. I speak to you in the space between seconds. I know you are tired, and I know what weighs you down. So, I wished to give you a choice._

"Which is?"

_My makers were masters of the physical. But we had no idea what comes after life. All I could guess was that it would be...easier...than the path ahead. You could do nothing, and pass on. You could be the one who set in motion the fall of the Cycle and the Reapers. Or I could activate the armor's medigel systems and heal you, and allow you to be the one who stops them directly._

A pause of the golden light, the relaxing voice.

_So I give you a choice. To stop, to take your well deserved rest. To stop fighting, forever. Or to turn, and face down this evil one last time._

* * *

**Chapter 4:**

**A Light Flung Into the Future**

* * *

The world resolves. It becomes a singular mountain of gold. It becomes a vast, unknowable thing before it. It becomes a great giant of light, magnificent and singular, speaking in one voice, louder than many.

It becomes **Resplendent Harbinger of Ascension.**

And it speaks, a voice booming, all pervading, oppressive and subtle at the same time. Sublime and vast, of great volume and great will. Of commanding nature and the worming sense of telling you what you already want.

**The Second Axiom has been breached,** Harbinger says, **Find Commander Shepard.**

And the listener nods. Two plates at the front of the long head raise, flanking the single, opening light.

"_Yes, Harbinger Master."_

* * *

_..._

* * *

Memories, like slides. Taking each one, moving them past. The brief respite as they sped towards Ilos, where she and Kaidan told the regs what to do with themselves. The moment she grabbed before they jumped through the Omega-4 relay with Thane, colors combining with...something else. That brief moment she spared with Liara, all the grief, the pain, the loss spilling over into...something they shared.

"I could just...die?" she asks.

_I am in your armor,_ the golden sphere says, _I could prevent the medical systems from activating._

"And they'd stop the Reapers?"

_You would become a martyr. A first casualty in the eventual war. They would carry on, in your name. You would become a cause. A legend. A symbol._

"Or I can do it myself," she whispers, "Fight the same damn war all over again. Maybe do it better, this time."

_You have already have. You know what is at stake. You know what must be done._

A sigh in the darkness. She closes her eyes. For a moment, a brief moment, she can hear the gunfire. Shouting. Fumbling, worried voice stuttering that she can't figure out why the life support systems aren't working.

"I think you know my answer, Vigil."

* * *

...

* * *

A small spark. Needles extend inside the breastplate, penetrating cloth, padding, flesh. Nanomachines patch damage. Something pulses within.

* * *

_You will not be alone. You will show them the way. They will stumble, they will fall, and they will rise and join you at your side._

A faint pulse of light. The darkness begins to crack, recede. A beat fills the world. A heartbeat.

_I can only show you the way. You must walk it, as you have before. But I can give you aid._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_L3 implant systems accessed._

_Erasing protocols._

_System wipe_

_Protocol drive formatted._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_ Remember your mistakes, but do not let them define you. Remember your failures, and learn from them. Remember ours, and do not repeat them._

Cracks of light in the darkness. Her eyes close as she feels the warmth, the light, surrounding her, infusing her. Nothing physical just...a sense, of something. Something that she hasn't felt in a long, long time.

_You will make our strength your own. Our sacrifices will be validated through your deeds._

* * *

_..._

* * *

_Writing protocols_

_L5 protocols written_

_L5 implant online_

* * *

_..._

* * *

_Our guidance is merely to give you hope. Become what you were born to be. Become what you strive to be. The good in us, the gold in us, lives on through you. Let the doubt and the grief burn to ash and wash away._

_ And let all that has driven you be reborn._

_**Now get up.**_

Green eyes snap open. Sensors built into her helmet come online, static before focusing into a worried blue face and a heads up display. Two fists clench in the armored gauntlets, and she takes a deep, sharp breath as she sits up, then stands.

Bullets sing through the air past her, bouncing off shields. Blue lights built into the implant at the base of her skull spark to life. The Prime at the entrance to the ruins, their sole exit, lays down fire, the flashlight head turning to her, focusing on her.

And she runs. Directly at it. Grin on her face underneath her helmet, blue lines in her HUD resolving as she feel blue electricity running over her, feels something familiar at the back of her mind.

The bullets fly.

They only hit air.

The Prime, on the other hand, is hit by a sphere of blue crackling light which goes in its chest and out the other side, spraying the walls with white and blue, detonating the three meter tall machine with the force and effect of an exploding egg.

Blue lightning wafting off her, the glow leaving her eyes, Jane rises to her feet with a smirk. The three Geth left in the room look at her confused. As she had it explained to her, the more Geth in a room, and particularly the more _big_ Geth, the smarter they become.

So she just struck them stupid.

Three gunshots, and the Geth drops. Hopping over the waist high wall, Ashley closes her rifle and slings it onto her back.

"Nice," she says, "You okay, Skipper?"

"Pretty good," Jane responds, cracking her knuckles, "Anyone hurt?"

She glances over the room. Javik tilts his head, raising a double eyebrow. Kaidan stands stock still. Liara peaks out from behind cover.

"Where's Wrex?"

* * *

...

* * *

Bloodied, bruised, he spits out a broken tooth which has already begun to grow back. Urdnot Wrex has trouble finding a good scrapping partner, ever since his last one blew herself up with an old space station. He really should take the time to head to Omega and see if that crime boss is Aleena or not.

"_You're prey,_" the Yahg spits, _"My kind are the apex predators of our world."_

The Yahg walks with a limp, now. Wrex smirks, blood splattered on his lip and forehead, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. The beast swings, Wrex bringing up an arm to block, punch to the monster's jaw accompanied by a flash of blue to send it stumbling back.

Pressing forward, fist claps against his palm and he surrounds his fist in a blue glow, hooking the Yahg across the face and making him stumble back. He's been through fights. He's been through wars. He's survived childhood on the planet which breeds Thresher Maws and Varren. This?

This is _embarrassingly easy._

"I'm prey on _Tuchanka_, asshat," Wrex grows, rolling his neck, "Where you wouldn't last five minutes. I'm guessing Saren might be looking for a receipt when he sees how badly you done fucked up."

He grins, cracking his knuckles.

"Either from the merc store...or the _pet_ store."

The Yahg rears back and roars. Which is when there is a new sound. Several hits from something which fail to penetrate skin, yet begin buzzing. A ticking, a beeping. The Yahg looks over his shoulder.

He sees, covering most of his back, sticky grenades, and looks over his shoulder as someone waves an omnitool. Cursing, Wrex hits the ground, covering his head, right when the shockwave hits. Looking up, the Yahg is gone.

Well, not gone.

The Yahg just isn't, well, _Yahg_ shaped anymore. Flicking a chunk off his crest, he climbs back to his feet as Shepard and the rest of her merry band run out, half expecting that they'd have to help him with the nine foot mound of suck he spent the past half hour kicking the ass of.

"Wrex?" Shepard asks.

"Shepard," Wrex responds, "Missed the fun. Looks like we got help."

About two dozen, all heavily armed. One puts away a sticky grenade launcher, the extended tube folding into a square which he attached to his hip, changing that for a short, compact pistol. All of them in red and yellow, some flecks of rust brown and silver in their suits. All of them with full helmets and face masks.

Quarians. Not only that, Quarian soldiers. The one at the head, their leader, with a red helmet and purple facemask, his suit a mix of red and gold, stows his assault rifle as he walks towards Shepard. Who is, for some reason, tilting her head and staring at him with a look of utter confusion.

"Kal'Reegar, Migrant Fleet Marines," the soldier says, saluting, or at least imitating a Systems Alliance salute, "Hope you don't mind us taking care of that...whatever the Hell it was for you, ma'am. Our shuttle crashed a few clicks from here, and we were wondering if we could hitch a ride."

* * *

...

* * *

Kal'Reegar nar _somethingsomething_ was someone she wasn't supposed to meet for another two years. They met on Haestrom, a world orbiting a dying star, under siege by Geth, pinned down by a giant weapons platform. He was holding off an entire platoon with a rocket launcher and whatever infection he has in him at the time. Her first decision upon meeting him was to tell him to _stand the hell down. _Which he did.

They met shortly afterwards, when she cleared Tali's name during her trial, at the cost of her father's reputation.

But _Hell,_ she thinks, that doesn't matter now. She already has a _plan_ for that.

"Sure thing," she says, "We'll contact the Migrant Fleet once we're out of system." Her omnitool flashes, crackling of a channel opening. "Joker, we need-"

Which is cut off by the roar of oversized engines as the Normandy comes to a stop over them, hatch scraping the ground in front of the ruins. Holding onto the side of the ramp, looking more shaken than he should be at this point, Garrus waves them in.

"Get on!" he yells, "We have to leave!"

Nodding towards the ramp, the quarians board first, marching and climbing on without as much as a moment's hesitation. Kaidan helps the blue skinned, visibly shaken doctor onboard, the others climbing on with her the last as the ship begins ascending, the ramp slowly closing.

"Garrus," Jane yells, over the whine of the engines, "What's wrong? Joker had orders to maintain position until-"

And then the air screams, with a flash of light and a roar as a burst of crimson light strikes the ruins, shaking the ground around it, liquifying earth and steel. Looking past the collapsing ruins, through the cloud of dust rising into the air, she sees the shape approaching with crackling red light over its blackened frame.

"Oh. Shit."

"Joker tried to raise you," Garrus says, "Sovereign's here. We're leaving."

"Now," Jane responds, "Joker! Get us out of here!"

The ramp shuts, and with a flash of its four engines, the Normandy wheels about and blasts off to the sky.

* * *

...

* * *

The trick, she thinks, is to make short term choices that play into the long term. Her own life is a small litany of such things- short term decisions turning lucky. Small ideas which played out in the long run. Say yes to one person, receive a benefit. Say no to another, receive a benefit.

An old friend, for example. They helped each other out on several occasions. Advice here, she ends up...well, a major power. Which makes her job easier. Such a decision was, at the time, a risky one. But the old power that was in charge of the majority of the Terminus Systems was not as...amenable as the current one is.

She weighs these things constantly.

In the end, at least, it got her a nice office. Leaning back in the padded, well used chair, hands folded in front of her face, Opiala Tevos sees the door to her office open out of the corner of her eye, her attention still mostly on the screen in front of her. The drell on the screen has not shown a sign of being agitated or angry. She knows he is. She's employed his services in the past. She also knows that if he were visibly angry, well...

Well, that would be bad.

"I understand your concern," she says, "And I'm sorry to say that the Primacy did, in fact, go behind my back on this. But I don't have direct power over this, and in the end she agreed to the job."

"_I was under the impression that the Primacy listened to the Asari, Councillor. Has this changed since we last spoke?"_

"The It's not the policy of the Asari Republics to tell the Primacy what to do." She nods, slightly. "They're not technically a client race, and the Republics do not treat them as such. I have voiced my displeasure to the Prime, however. It's understandable that they would call up the best person they could find to study the...guest...however, considering the feelings that the Hanar hold towards the subject. It is, ultimately, her decision."

_"I would feel most comfortable with the decision if it did not involve her being aboard a warship chasing after a rogue Spectre, Councillor."_

_Now where did he hear about that,_ she asks herself. A pang of stress, an urge to rub her temples. Between Arterius going rogue, the Protheans, Udina making more noise, and everything else.

"I'll make sure that Dr. Krios contacts you when Shepard next checks in," she says, "I can't tell her to _not_ take the assignment. That, I'm afraid, is up to you."

The drell nods. The screen goes blank.

A cough, and she looks up, rubbing the bridge of her nose to find Donnel Udina holding a tray with two cups of coffee.

"Udina?"

"Councillor," he responds, "Anderson is busy making some calls, so he sent me out while he deals with military matters. I figured between Valern's already hyperactive tendencies and my unsure whether coffee would be a poison to Sparatus, buying a coffee for you would be least likely to lead to a diplomatic incident."

He cracks a small smile. She smiles back, gesturing to the seat in front of her azure, coral glass desk.

"This is a victory, isn't it?" she asks, "Saren being stripped of status, Shepard becoming a Spectre..."

"In a sense," Udina says, sitting, handing the paper cup over, "Wish the victory didn't taste like ashes, though. Eden Prime attacked. Parliament is breathing down my neck and I'll probably have my office swarmed by Hanar once they figure out that Shepard found the Protheans."

He sighs, leaning back in the chair. Gel cushions conform to his frame, and he rubs his temples, sighing.

"I imagine Anderson wasn't happy about being relieved of duty," Tevos says, sipping her coffee, "Who's idea was that, if I can ask?"

"Anderson has a personal stake in stopping Sovereign. As capable a commander as he is, he would be...too persistent. So, it was mine. However."

He shrugs.

"However, Shepard talked to him. I'm not sure what she said, but Anderson and I are...amicable. It is good to have someone with a different perspective. I listen to him, he listens to me. I provide diplomatic and bureaucratic solutions, he provides military solutions. Ones I don't think of."

He folds his hands, tenting his fingers, two index fingers pressed against his lips. Narrowing his eyes, looking past the relaxed Asari nods leaning back in her chair, he stares out at the white skyways and walkways of the Presidium. The seat of power of the Protheans and, if the protheans are to be believed, countless empires before them. And so, so fleeting.

"Councillor," he says, "I wonder about something. Is humanity ready for a Council seat?"

"What do you think, Ambassador?"

A low sigh. Closing his eyes, raising his brow.

"No," he says, "No. Not by a long shot."

* * *

...

* * *

_Mass at .0029 of base_

_ Kinetic barriers at full_

_ Thruster control to VI assist manual_

"Fuckity fuck fuck shit!"

Engines flare and the Normandy blasts off, the black clouds parting in its sonic wake. The surface of Therum blurs beneath it, remaining Geth troopers and armatures knocked back and over by the bow wave of the accelerating frigate.

Right behind it, a roar felt on a level below the physical, is the Reaper.

"Oh what the shit," Joker mutters, fingers dancing over the control screen, "I hit you with lava!"

Metal scraping on the floor as the ship banks, dodging red blasts which send bursts of ash into the air, the ship swaying with every bank. Joker doesn't look over his shoulder, the screen in front of him showing the dreadnought accelerating after him.

"Joker," Garrus yells, skidding to a stop behind him, "I think Sovereign wants to talk with you. With _lasers and husks._"

"Shut up shut up."

"If it catches us, I'm blaming you for the volcano thing. Not that it would ask, it would just vaporize us all."

"Not. Helping."

More metal on the deck. Joker glances at Kaidan as he jumps into the copilot seat, tapping up a display and tossing his helmet over his shoulder.

"Wondered where you were," Joker says.

"Long story. I'll tell you later."

The interior tilts in time with Normandy turning on its side and dodging, a blast of red light cracking the ground like an egg shell and sending a pillar of lava into the air which Sovereign plows through.

"This guy is pissing me off!" Joker yells, "Hey, Kaidan! What'd you have for lunch?"

"Uh-"

"Never mind! I'm gonna find out anyway!"

More metal stamping on the steel floors, and Shepard runs into the cockpit in time with the clanging of her armored boots. Just as the lights turn red, warnings of unsafe changes in ship mass blaring through the speakers.

And the Normandy drops, blue light dancing over it as white light from its nose flares. Mass increasing, it weighs itself down, the forward thrust no longer enough to drive it forward, forcing it to drop back.

Wind screams around it, almost as loud as the screams of the crew as they find themselves pitched forward. Pressley screams, grabbing the side of the console in CiC. PDAs go flying from their resting places, crew in their seats lurching to their side. None of them pay any attention to the quarian running past them.

Shepard and Garrus scream as the bulk of Sovereign flies past them, taking seconds to pass over as the Normandy lurches, dropping like a stone to Therum.

"Commander!"

"Hold onto your asses, everyone!" Joker yells, fingers dancing on the screen. The interior glows blue as the Normandy goes from weighing its full mass to a fraction, stopping a hairs breadth from the lava covered surface as Sovereign begins a slow rotation.

Too late. Pitching upwards, the Normandy takes off, rocketing into the sky.

Joker calmly adjusts his hat.

Garrus collapses against the seat.

Kaidan calmly removes the paper bag from underneath his seat and begins breathing into it.

"Nice trick," Tali says.

Shepard slowly turns to the quarian girl, jaw hanging slack.

"I could tell you stories about my father and Uncle Han."

Joker snickers, but doesn't speak. The ash clouds and red sky give way to the black, and the shaking tapers off as the ship accelerates into space. Slowly climbing to his feet, Garrus gives off a relieved breath, patting Joker on the shoulder.

"You're insane," he says, "A damned good pilot, but completely insane."

"I got us away, didn't I?" Joker asks, glancing at the console, "Oh, and look. Now Ash wants to buy me a drink. At least someone appreciates my awesome skills, and I didn't even have to put on the Loggins music this time."

Jane shakes her head, patting Joker on the top of his hat.

"Good work," she says, and turns, "Tali, what is it?"

"A friend of mine and I have been going over the pictures we have of Sovereign," she responds, wringing her hands, "Commander, I think we found a weak point on him."

"Good to hear," Kaidan says, leaning back in his chair, "We can forward that to Alliance brass, see what they say. Hopefully we don't have to use that."

* * *

...

* * *

Red lightning dances over the surface. Spots of black along his seamless, perfect hull, ash crackling against his shields. The mind which is Nazara turns skyward, the body following suit. They have escaped. They have outrun it, out flown it, and tricked it. The mind which is Nazara, the many which are one, have come to a single conclusion.

In doing so, it has awakened something deep within it. It has explored the possibility that exists within it, that such limited perceptions, limited emotions, can still hold sway of the presence that is Nazara. It has come to the conclusion that yes, it can. It can still feel hate.

Time and space warp around it. The vast core of their miracle fuel spins with speed and force. The ground beneath where it hovered cracks, bursts, and liquifies, turning the young island into a island shaped sea of lava.

* * *

...

* * *

And Sovereign appears directly in the Normandy's path, tendrils out, eyes focused upon the small craft.

"Oh _what the fuck!"_ Joker screams.

The craft lurches, coming to a halt. PDAs that lay on the floor float upwards, Pressley grabbing onto the console as his feet leave the floor.

"Mass effect core's offline!" Kaidan yells, "Sovereign's got us in some sort of tractor field! It's overwhelming the cyberwarfare suites!"

The ship slowly turns, the cockpit rotated to face the opening maw of the Reaper.

"Our systems aren't responding!" Joker yells, "Adams! Get me something! Anything!"

* * *

...

* * *

The tendrils of the massive ship open, surrounding the frigate. At the very face of the dreadnought, a iris opens, red light flickering and gathering, the light running along the entire mass and length of the ancient craft.

It probes the ship. Aims at the cockpit. This is the one, Nazara thinks. This is the one Harbinger recognized. This is the one He feared. And with this, the Reaper muses, with this the possible threat the Harvest faces _ends._

And it cannot help but feel something else.

_Satisfaction._

The light gathers. The power to rend cities focuses upon a single point. The crackling roar of the Reaper fills the cabins of the Normandy as the very last moment of their lives dawns upon them.

* * *

...

* * *

And then a slug weighing twenty kilograms hits one of the tendrils at 1.3% the speed of light, sheering metal, nudging the dreadnought to the side, and sending the blast flying wide.

The dreadnought turns, just in time to receive a face full of rail accelerated slugs. Two dozen cruisers surrounding a ship nearly a kilometer long, arrow shaped crafts opening fire as the Normandy's engines flicker white once again.

_"SSV Normandy,"_ a voice declares, one very familiar to Jane, "_This is SSV Kilimanjaro with the Fifth Fleet 3__rd__ Flotilla! Captain Anderson says hi!"_

Oh, she always makes an entrance, Jane thinks. PDAs and Pressley drop to the floor behind them, Jane grabbing the back of Joker's seat as the ship lurches.

"Core's back online," Kaidan says, "Joker, get us out of here!"

"No," Jane says, and turns to Tali, "Where's the weak point?"

Tali glances at the ship before them, at the fleet of human vessels hammering the dreadnought. Which, she thinks, would stand no chance once the Reaper gets its bearings.

"The central firing chamber," she says, "It's apparently hooked up directly to its mass effect core. If we can hit it with a disruptor torpedo, it may disable the entire vessel!"

Jane nods, whacks the back of Joker's seat.

"Think you can hit that?" she asks.

Joker snorts, tapping his controls.

"Watch me."

* * *

...

* * *

The engines sputter, flare, and release a gout of plasma. Lurching forward, the Normandy rolls and accelerates, circling around the 2 kilometer bulk of Sovereign. Accelerating, it passes the dreadnought, passing the fleet, before swinging around and speeding towards the Reaper.

Tendrils open, the great eye at the center of Sovereign's maw begins to flicker red once again.

Banking, twisting, blasts of red go past the Normandy, shields flickering and crackling, rolling around a burst of red light larger than it is.

The scream of the Reaper fills the cabin. The tips of the tendrils of the metal giant glow, filling the void with red light which the craft dances around. And a single burst of blue light shoots out from it, engines flaring as the Normandy darts between two of Sovereign's tendrils and past it.

No one sees the torpedo hit, but the effect is all the same. The craft lurches, red lightning flaring all over it. It starts with a simple explosion, growing greater and bigger which blows two tentacles clean off the Reaper's hull, explosions rippling through the face and up the spine.

Bursts of fire from the human fleet impact the hull as the kinetic barriers drop, ripping gouts through the hull, impacts sending it back as chunks of metal, circuitry, and the rest of the tendrils flying off. The bass, metallic scream of the Reaper goes louder before cutting off, explosions from the death throes of the Reaper joining the explosions pushing it back.

And on the bridge of the Normandy, Jane watches as the Reaper begins to burn in its descent towards Therum.

"If we're really lucky, Saren was aboard."

She glances at Garrus. He shrugs.

"Yeah, I think I'm gonna have to buy you a drink too, Joker," Kaidan says.

Joker adjusts his hat with a smile, saying nothing. And the Normandy banks, turning, before flying off to join the fleet.

* * *

...

* * *

"_...so Anderson had us rendezvous with you. Looks like we showed up just in time."_

The holographic image of the woman is a mirror to Jane. Short red hair with streaks of gray, the same green eyes, same build. Commander stripes on her uniform and a hat on her head, and a small smirk on her face. Hannah Shepard, XO of the SSV Kilimanjaro. Or, as Jane knows her, Mom.

"That you did," Jane says, leaning on the console in the circular comm room, "Looks like I owe you and Anderson a beer. And Joker, too."

"_Damned straight you do, kiddo. And good stuff, not the cheap crap."_

Jane rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, I know better than to short shrift you, Mom. Joker's still going on about having a Reaper painted on the side of the hull."

"_Remind me to never let him at the helm of my ship."_

"Duly noted, Mom. I have to check in with Anderson and the Council."

"_Will do. See you soon. Kilimanjaro out."_

The image dissolves, and forms into an image of her three technical bosses. Valern, hood over his features. Sparatus, towering over them. Tevos, keeping them in line.

_"Commander Shepard. Can you confirm that you've destroyed Sovereign?"_

"We blew off most of its face and then sent it crashing into Therum," Jane responds, standing straight, "If it's not dead, then it's definitely out of action. We recovered T'Soni, but Sovereign blasted the Prothean ruins while we were escaping."

"_A total loss of the ruins? Shame, but, understandable,_" Valern says, "_What is your next step?"_

"We're going to assume that Saren and Benezia were not onboard until proven otherwise. We're enroute back to the Citadel for repairs and resupply, and to debrief Dr. T'Soni. I can give a more thorough report in person."

Tevos nods.

"_Understood, Commander._"

The three holograms disappear. Shepard grins, leaning forward...and stops when the pressure causes the railing to tilt.

"Oh, that's not good," she mutters, and walks out, walking around the divider and into CiC, where Pressley is standing a short distance away from his usual station.

"Commander," he says, tapping his PDA, "Problem. We have stress fractures all over the ship."

"How bad?"

"I'm not sure if I want to buy Joker a beer or slug him," he responds, "Nothing life threatening right now, but we need to get back to the Citadel ASAP. I'm pretty sure a combat situation is not what we want, right now."

Jane walks over to the console, the triangular shape of the heart of CiC glowing blue with the display of the map of the Milky Way. Gentle, she leans on it. And the entire console tilts, in response.

"Yeah. I'm gonna go with your recommendation," she responds.

* * *

...

* * *

Four eyes in front stare at two eyes on the side. A mass of crimson, stylized armor, and a humped lizard dinosaur man in red, sectioned armor.

"Krogan."

"Prothean."

The two go silent. That is all the greeting needed for men such as these.

"The Yahg were smaller in my cycle," Javik says, "You did well, so easily fighting one."

Wrex grunts, arms folded. He leans back against the wall, a smirk on his lips.

"My people looked upon the youth of your species," Javik continues, "We had plans for you."

"Liked what you saw?" Wrex asks.

"We were going to use you to pull carts."

"Fair enough," Wrex responds.

Metal grinding against metal as the cargo elevator door opens, and a blue skinned girl still in her red and white jumpsuit walks out, making a beeline towards the standing Prothean.

* * *

...

* * *

Watching the Asari approach the...drell, maybe?...he shrugs and turns back to the lounging two dozen soldiers, all their backs up against the wall of the engineering deck. Their weapons are stowed, their checkups done. No infections, no wounds. Damn lucky, all of them.

He gives another glance at the blue girl trying to talk with the four eyed drell. Poor guy, too. Doesn't want to think about how badly his plastic surgery screwed up if that's what he ended up looking like. But, if the galaxy's taught him anything, you can get anything done for just the right amount of money.

"Excuse me?"

Kal'Reegar turns, and stands straight. For most people, seeing the tall, lanky, and particularly well armed Quarian standing at attention for the girl would be odd. Then one figures out that the girl is the daughter of his CO and understands why.

"Ma'am," he says, "We haven't been introduced. Kal'Reegar, Marines. You're Admiral Rael'Zorah's daughter?"

Tali nods, hands by her waist, fidgeting. As one, the two dozen marines also stand at attention. Her suit diagnostic warn in her ear about temperature fluctuations. She tells it to _shut the hell up._

"Sorry for the surprise," Kal continues, "Our ship crash landed on Therum. Some sort of virus got into the system and we went down, but none of us got hurt. Once we"

_Oh ancestors,_ she thinks, _I have an army._

Two dozen finely honed Quarian marines. And she's a VIP. She could probably order them around. She's heard rumors of other admirals. Admiral Xen, for example, supposedly had them help with her experiments. Or possibly wear maid costumes. Father had expressed his opinion on her, and that opinion is that she was a bit off her rocker. A few seals short of a suit. But she could probably order them around, and she's noticing that all two dozen of them fill out their encounter suits a lot better than she does. Which is unfair. She's slim. She has...well, she has assets. Not the firmly toned pectorals, wiry muscle, broad shoulders or firm, flat abdomen these marines have. Neither does she have the same sort of round, firm, defined buttocks that the Marine in front of her possesses, which he no doubt knows how to crush Geth with. And those can't all be smuggling pockets, especially those bulges _down there-_

"...so if we can get a call with the Admiral, we'll be able to sort this out."

Tali blinks, and stares at the marine. Oh, he was talking, wasn't he?

"That sounds like a good idea," she responds.

* * *

...

* * *

"Excuse me?"

Javik slowly turns, hands folded behind him, standing a head taller than the Asari. Her eyes wander over him, looking him up and down. He would be uncomfortable, but discomfort would imply any emotion at all, and he has...yet to show such things. Wrex, on the other hand, only shrugs and wanders off.

"You're," she starts, "You're a Prothean? A real, live Prothean?"

Javik grunts. An acknowledgement.

"I'm Dr. Liara T'Soni," she says, extending a hand, "I've spent the last fifty years studying the Protheans. I have a lot of questions."

Javik says nothing.

"Right," Liara says, tapping her omnitool, "Well. Let me record this. Liara T'Soni, research log. Prothean excavation, Therum. Interview with...well, interview with Prothean. Is your name Javik?"

"Yes."

She nods.

"I have a lot of questions about the Prothean Empire. What was the Prothean Empire like? What was your culture like? Your history?"

He raises a double eyebrow.

"The empire had fallen when I was born," he responds, "Our culture was one of war and survival. The only thing I knew of my people was that we were dying by the billions."

She blinks. She opens her mouth and closes it, and taps her omnitool.

"I see...there was a hypothesis that the Prothean Empire disappeared due to them being overwhelmed by a superior force. This is correct?"

"We called them Reapers."

"A machine race supposedly emerging from dark space," she says, waving her hand as orange screens fold out between them, graphs, charts planets, "Usual cycles of 50,000 years. It seems to be some sort of extinction cycle, but we can't get accurate dates on the Citadel or the Mass Relays, so everyone assumes that the Protheans were first."

Javik raises a double eyebrow, once again. He doesn't smile, but wants to. There may be hope for this cycle, yet.

"You are correct," Javik says, "The machine that chased us on this world, Sovereign. He is a Reaper. My people did not kill a single one of them. This is the first time I have seen a Reaper die."

A chime on his armor. He taps his wrist, a greenish blue approximation of an omnitool appearing, an image of a face like his. Liara looks at her notes, turning her attention from the prothean to her notes on the Protheans, to compare the two.

"Kova," Javik says, "Report. What have...what?"

Javik's eyes go wide. His mouth opens agape, before the corners of his mouth slowly curve into a smile.

"How many did you find?"


	5. Breather

Noveria.

_"Faster!_ Run faster!"

Holding the shotgun in both hands, she runs through the door, hearing the stomping of metal boots close behind her. Flickering and chittering sounds surround her, glowing eyes under the faceplate seeing the hint of motion before they drop in front of her. Chittering, hissing with acid fangs, they stand on eight outstretched legs to pounce.

Screaming, she swings the shotgun and fires, blasting one, swinging the barrel into another as it leaps, sending the crittery crawly thing flying and splattering into a wall. She turns, running backwards as the roaring thing rears up on four legs, swinging out its toothed dagger things of tentacles, hissing at her as it chases with several of its friends.

A hand grabs the back of her hood and pulls her in, dropping to the cold metal floor as the cock of the shotgun is followed with a blast, and the door closes in front of the headless thing which was once one of the monsters of this doomed lab.

"Gotcha," Kal'Reegar says, extending a hand, "You okay, Ma'am?"

Tali takes his hand, letting him help her up. Which is when five more of the crawly small things drop around them.

"_Spiders! Spiders spiders spiders SPIDERS!"_

Each scream is punctuated by a blast from her shotgun, five green puddles surrounding her. The two Quarians suck in breath, leaning against each other.

"I hate spiders," she says, "Especially evil homicidal spiders."

"Yeah," Kal responds, "You and me both, Ma'am. Get the elevator, I'll see if I can check in with Shepard."

It's no secret that Tali'Zorah nar Rayya vas _somethingsomething_ hates elevators. It is no secret that she hates spiders.

So, the scream she lets off is to no one's surprise when the door opens, and the elevator is revealed to be _filled with Rachni._

But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

* * *

...

* * *

"We just killed a Reaper."

Garrus' mandibles twitch as he says those words. Next to him, Kaidan Alenko nods, rolling his neck.

"Hells yes."

Next to Kaidan, Ash Williams sways back and forth on her heels, and claps her hands together.

"Few more and we're done."

The three stand outside the main airlock. Purple light from Widow filters through the artificial atmosphere and UV screens surrounding the dock, peaking through the arms of the Citadel. Not five minutes after docking, a human admiral with a stick up his ass that would make a turian proud appeared and demanded to make an inspection.

"What do you think?" Ash asks, "Think he'll snap at the Krogan squatting in the shuttle bay, or the two dozen quarian marines doing chinups in engineering?"

"I'm going to guess," Kaidan says, tilting his head, "The 'drell' with the weird plastic surgery. And the other drell following him around."

Garrus twitches his mandibles.

"I'm guessing he'll ask where the Mako went off to."

Kaidan shudders. Ash grins.

"Ten-hut!"

Kaidan and Ash straighten up. Following their cue, even though he technically outranks them, Garrus does as well. Boots on metal, and walking down the walkway comes someone in the uniform blues of an alliance officer.

Red hair cut to above her shoulder, some gray in it. Green eyes, crows feet faint and smile lines at the corners of her mouth. Her face, otherwise, is the same as her daughter's. Strong, classy, an almost ever present smirk pulling at the right side of her lips.

If David Anderson were made the first human Spectre, it was more or less accepted that Hannah Shepard would be the captain of the ship that would take him from world to world. The years have been kind to her. As loose as her blues are, she doesn't have the paunch, doesn't have sag a woman her age would be entitled to. This, at least, is what Garrus muses. But he knows Chloe and Jane would kill him for continuing this line of thought.

For different reasons.

"At ease," she says, the three relaxing, "Alenko. Williams. Where's the CO?"

"Rear Admiral Mikhailovich has requested an inspection tour of the Normandy, Ma'am!" Ash responds, "Commander Shepard is escorting him."

Hannah nods, fixing the cap on her head.

"...quarians? What is a company of quarian marines doing onboard the Normandy?"

The airlock opens. The unshaven, dress uniformed man locks eyes with newest arrival. Rolling her eyes, Jane Shepard clicks her heels and salutes her mother. Silently, Kaidan hands a rolled up bill to Ash.

"Admiral," Hannar says, saluting, "Sorry to interrupt. Orders from brass. I need the Commander, now."

Admiral Peter Mikhailovich salutes, and nods.

"Understood. As you were."

And he walks off, muttering. Shoulders slumping, Jane shakes her head, nodding to her officers and VIP, before turning back to Hannah. And spotting the gold pips on her collar.

"Captain pips?"

"Farragut's being promoted upstairs," Hannah responds, "I'm now the CO of the SSV Kilimanjaro. And on order of Admiral Hackett and Ambassador Udina, your ride until the Normandy's patched up."

* * *

...

* * *

_"So give it to me straight, Pressly. Did Joker actually manage to break the damn ship?"_

The bald man chuckles, shakes his head, and ducks under a loose pipe, and continues walking through the hallway as he considers Kaidan's question.

"No, Alenko. The term we use is _structural compromise._ Joker's stunts _structurally compromised_ the Normandy. Which was never designed to, say-"

_"Pull dime turns in an atmosphere, dodge an angry mechacthulhu and run through a canyon that's barely big enough for a fighter."_

"So you saw the tapes?"

_"Ash insisted. She brought popcorn."_

"So it's _Ash?"_

A choke on the other end. Muttering.

"_I hate you so much. So how long until the Normandy's repaired?"_

Walking down the neck of the Normandy's CiC, Pressly taps the green circle and the door opens. At the pilot's seat, as always, is Jeff Moreau.

"Adams said a week," Pressly responded, "They need to take out everything, flood the ship with omnigel to reinforce the structure, and then put everything back in. That's at least how he explained it to me, but it's not beyond the realm of possibility that Greg's full of shit."

_"Yeah. And you're supervising?"_

"Someone has to while Shepard does the galactic hero thing. And look on the bright side, now you have _two_ Shepards to stare at."

"_Hate. All my hate, Pressly."_

"Love you too. Pressly out."

The link closes, and Pressly taps open his console and turns over to Joker.

"C'mon baby," Joker says, tapping the transparent screen, "You know I'd never hurt you. What's the safeword?"

A red warning sign appears on the screen. Joker leans back in the seat.

"That's my girl."

* * *

**Chapter 5:**

**Breather**

* * *

This is Tali Zorah vas _undecided_ nar Rayya. She is currently confused. And perhaps a little flustered. She has also realized that she may be most responsible for killing an ancient machine god from beyond the galaxy, but that is something a bit too big for her to take in, right now.

What is important is that she is in the FTL comm room, alongside Kal'Reegar, who is standing ramrod straight, puffing out his chiseled chest, tightening his weaponized buttocks, jutting out his most likely pronounced chin underneath his polished, pockmarked helmet which has seen battles like she can't imagine and _warning body temperature rising would you like cold water circulation?_

_ Ancestors, yes._

And on her other side is Commander Jane Shepard, also standing ramrod straight, hands folded behind her, puffing out a bust she wishes she had, standing with a self confidence she wishes she had. She isn't sure if she has a crush on her or if she wants to _be_ her. Because she can talk to the man currently standing as the flickering blue hologram in front of them without flinching.

"_...though I am curious how your shuttle managed to crash land on Therum,"_ Admiral Rael'Zorah vas Rayya nar Idenna says, "_Reegar, have you gone over the logs?"_

"What we could recover, yes," Kal responds, "Seems we got some sort of virus. We're going over it now, but we're guessing we got an electronic attack by the Geth fleet that was in orbit at the time."

_"Understood. Also, I've looked over your request. You wish to be temporarily assigned to Shepard's crew?"_

"Think it's a good idea," Kal responds, nodding, "Shepard and I talked it over. Think of it like a cultural exchange. I'm going to take five of my boys, we're going to work with Shepard and her crew" Stands a little straighter. More official. "The seven of us can provide tactical information on the Geth, and in return we get to study ship designs and tech we can bring back to the fleet. Like a sort of extended, second Pilgrimage."

Rael nods. His gaze centers on Tali.

"_I see._"

"They've both been a big help," Jane chimes in, "Reegar helped us with a Geth attack on Therum, and," she gestures to Tali, "Tali's the one who found the weakpoint that took down Sovereign. Also, she's been helping Engineer Adams in maintaining the Normandy's drive core, and has contributed to boosting the efficiency overall of the ship."

Rael makes a sound. She isn't sure if it is an approving sound.

"_Understood."_

"Also, have you gone over the proposal I had Reegar send over?"

Rael nods.

"_Explain to me exactly what you want to do."_

"I'm going to be encountering a lot of Geth," Jane says, "So I thought we could send back inert parts. Weapons, cores, tools, which we would leave at drop off points for the Fleet to pick up. I figure it could help you study how the Geth have evolved, and maybe develop a countermeasure or communication protocol with them."

Rael nods. Beneath his helmet, he furrows his brow.

"_A good idea. If we can study them...yes. Perhaps. It could give us an advantage if we go to war with them."_

"Or if you want to talk to them."

"_Yes. Help appreciated, Commander Shepard. Rael'Zorah out."_

The image flickers, and disappears. Tali's shoulders slump, half turning her head as Kal salutes the both of them.

"Ma'ams. I'm going to go to the men and pick a squad. The rest will be shipping out later today."

He walks out, door hissing closed behind him. Tali slumps her shoulders, and quickly straightens up whens he realizes Jane has turned to her.

"That went well," Jane says, "So, what's your plans?"

Tali blinks. She glances from side to side.

"Plans?"

"We've got about eighteen hours before the Kilimanjaro's ready to launch," Jane responds, leaning against the railing, finding it tilting again, "Damn it. Anyway, Kilimanjaro's staff is going to transfer our things over, so we have shore leave. What're you going to do?"

She blinks again. She glances from side to side, again.

"So," Jane says, "Who's your friend? The one who got us Sovereign's weak point?"

"Mahrek?" Tali asks, "He...um...he's a friend. I take classes on the extranet. He's a classmate."

Jane nods.

"I..." Tali fidgets, lacing her fingers together, twisting them together, "Well, he tells me he lives on the Citadel. I think...maybe...well, I'm going to see if I can meet him."

* * *

...

* * *

The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors lower with a loud snap. Two toed feet started marching across the walkway. Ash Williams found her musing of how to paint a large squid onto the side of the Normandy interrupted by a loud cough.

"Commander Shepard?"

Eyebrow raised, Ash turns on her heel. Either Skipper needs to get more photo ops or this isn't someone who's human. Which is exactly what it turns out to be. Clad in a navy, red trimmed encounter suit, roughly as tall as her, faint pink glow from behind his mask, the quarian in front of her gives off a sigh and scratches the back of his head.

"Yeah, no," Ash responds, "What do you want?"

"Kal'Ossen vas Citadel," the quarian says, extending a hand, "Admiralty board wanted me to help with the repair and resupply since you've got Migrant Marines onboard."

"Uh huh."

"Y'know, set up a clean room, make sure you have Migrant Fleet approved gruel," the quarian responds, shrugging, "Everyone keeps assuming we eat what the turians eat. Well, not exactly true. See, here's the thing;"

He began explaining. She is, in all honesty, not sure what he was explaining. Because it apparently had something to do with proteins, and how proteins on one side don't always match up. And how too much bacteria can get in bad places. And how turian proteins and quarian proteins can, if one is not careful, create what he refers to as the Gravy Train.

"...and then no one's laughing, because no one even wants to look him in the eye. Got what I'm saying?"

She does. God help her, she does.

"Reminds me of this one time on Illium," he continues, rubbing the back of his helmet, "Saw a Krogan drink a liquified Turian. Technically Krogans can eat anything, right? Well, no one left that place looking pretty."

The bulkhead rises. Synthetic voice chimes on about recycling air and equalizing pressure, and the door opens to reveal one Commander Shepard, one Doctor Chackwas, and one Lieutenant Alenko.

"...doesn't make any sense!"

Ash cocks an eyebrow. Exactly what they were arguing about she isn't sure, but she wants in. It might help pass the time.

* * *

...

* * *

The skewers, made from something called fishdog, and hence completely unappetizing towards Kova, sit bare and cleaned on the plate next to the seat cushion, the only sounds in the room the incessant _taptaptap_ of fingers on the holographic keyboard. Her back is to him, and she has, apparently, not noticed him. At all.

"Excuse-"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhh_hhh._ Almost updated."

Hunched over the computer, she scans over something, and after a long moment turns as the screen blinks off. Two fingered hands and two toed, sock clad feet brace on the floor and the other occupant of the room rises, red strands falling around the shoulders as she stands, wobbles, and falls to the floor with a groan.

"Ow. Sitting too long."

"Sitting for _hours._"

A muttered swear, one which he doesn't recognize and may have fallen out of use by his time. Shaking his head, he enters, snaps his fingers, and the overhead lights flash on to her pained moan.

She is now rubbing her ankles. Trying, she protests, to get blood flowing to her feet again. The short, gangly girl flexes her legs, shakes her feet, and looks up at Kova with a barest hint of annoyance. One couldn't blame him, in all honesty, for the way he's staring at her.

He hasn't seen a female Prothean in a _long_ time.

She's short, gangly. Her gray skin has traces of blue and silver in its coloring. Her head is narrower than his, her angular dome softened by the red hair falling in cords over the top of her head, tapering off to soft strands down the back and sides. Yellow, green flecked eyes, two on each side of her short, flattened nose glare at him, but he shrugs.

Her clothes, the ones they found her in, are still being washed, studied, and if their Hanar hosts are to be believed, historically documented. They still need to investigate _why_ she's here, why she was found here, and why the single, solitary stasis pod had her in it and not someone important.

For right now, they consist of a white shirt, dark blue zipped hooded sweat shirt and dark blue pants and white socks. She has yet to put on shoes. They may need to find them, at some point.

"Are you done?" Kova asks, "Because if you are, we can start investigating."

"I've only gotten through pre-Asari history, honestly," she responds, hands on her back, stretching her back, Kova's gaze glancing at her chest before back to her face, "Uh...still have to study up on turians, salarians, earthans-"

"Humans."

More muttering, as she braces against the floor and stands, shakily bouncing before rolling her neck.

"So, then what?" she asks, "I really _really_ wanted to get back to studying. I know I honesty _don't_ have any projects due anymore because it's been fifty thousand years but I _really_ wanted to find out about everything around here. Do we _really_ have to go now?"

Kova stares at her. He blinks.

"You are...not concerned. That it's been fifty thousand years, and everything you know is dead?"

The girl...shrugs.

"My family died years ago," she says, "I was up to my eyes in student debt, apprenticed to a miserable old learnmaker who stared at my ass, and trying to get a job so I wouldn't have to sell redundant organs to make rent. What am I missing?"

She taps the bracelet on her left wrist. An old green hologram, a single globe surrounding her fist, appears. The computer clicks off, and she taps it closed.

"Meanwhile, I don't even know what killed off the 'Empire,'" she says, twitching both fingers, "Or why I got stuck in the single stasis pod at the study site, or why no one bothered to defrost me thousands of years ago. So the same 'Empire'," air quotes, twitching fingers, "That jacked up my debt, let my parents die, and left me to rot on Kahje's gone? Sweet."

Kova sighs. He shakes his head, glaring at the girl as she picks up the plate and walks past him. He was exuberant. He was overjoyed. Then he began talking to the solitary inhabitant of these ruins, that the Hanar had not found without his help. And of all the ones to find, he did not find a scientist, or leader, or great wise mind of the past.

Instead, he found a _child._

* * *

_..._

* * *

It started all the way down in the med bay. Placed flush against one side of the ship, it serves as the home base, mobile surgery wing, office, and treatment center run by one Karin Chakwas. In the words of her ex-husband, '_A goddamn Helen Mirren beauty,_' a woman who could probably match a Krogan drink for drink, and also someone who, while understanding that being a Spectre is a big deal, does not make one immune to her pronunciations of health.

"You're taking time off. Immediately."

"Make me."

The doors to the medical bay open. The soldier stationed at them summarily salutes, and is summarily ignored, as the CO and CMO walk by him. Well, the CO walks by him and the CMO walks after her.

"Commander," Chakwas says, "I don't need to remind you that you've just taken _three_ rounds to the chest, which would have _killed_ you if your life support systems didn't come online."

"And yet here I am, _alive,_ with minimal scarring!"

"You were _clinically dead for ninety seconds!"_ She grabs Shepard's shoulder, turning her around. "_God_ help me, Commander, if you fight me on this I will have you sedated, put in a straight jacket, placed under _armed _guard and locked in your quarters until the Kilimanjaro's ready to launch."

Jane folds her arms, her lips a straight line.

"And I'm going to back her up on that."

She turns, leveling her gaze on Kaidan as he walks over.

"Commander, the Doctor's right," Kaidan explains, "We're not relieving you of command, and we're not mutinying, but you're stressing out and we're concerned."

"Kaidan-"

"You got shot three times," Kaidan interrupts, "You got up, you started pulling biotics the likes of which I've seen in superhero vids, and you tell us you're _fine._ But that's not fine, that's you _getting shot three times in the chest."_

In the mind of Kaidan Alenko, such a pronunciation should instantly get the attention, respect, and agreement of his commanding officer. In the deeper part of the mind of Kaidan Alenko, which does not dwell on such things as military regulations, the chain of command, and Alliance protocols, it should also get him tongue.

"We're not relieving you of command," Chakwas continues, walking towards the stairs to the top level as Kaidan starts and walks after them, "We're asking you to take eighteen hours of shore leave. Take time off. Pressly- Charles- has the Normandy in hand."

"Saren-"

"Is being hunted down, we don't have a ship, and if we want to not have the Captain of the ship we're guests on intervene, I suggest you take my recommendation."

Kaidan clears his throat. Chakwas turns, glaring at him.

"Doctor, please tell me your threat was not just, _'I'm going to tell your mother on you'."_

If looks could kill, Karin Chakwas would have cost Jane a Staff Lieutenant.

A sigh, and Jane shrugs, nodding as she walks past the tilting map, past a smugly smirking Pressly, and towards the airlock.

"Fine," she says, "I'll take some leave."

"She's going to go down to a firing range and shoot things for eighteen hours," Kaidan observes, "We need to assign someone to make sure she relaxes. An escort, if you will."

* * *

...

* * *

The bulkhead slides open. Ash watches as the CO, the LT, and the CMO walk out, still arguing, still debating. Cocking her head slightly, she turns to the quarian and finds him staring. At the CO.

"What."

Kal'Ossen shrugs.

"I can't look?" he asks.

"But..." she scratches her head, "You're quarian. Right?"

"Have _you_ ever seen a quarian woman naked?" Ash blinks, shakes her head. "Me neither."

Turning back to his datapad, the quarian continues muttering supply numbers to himself. Ash perks her ear. Something about Skipper needing time off. Needing to go out. Needing someone to escort her, and now LT, all six feet of beef that he is, furiously denying that he suggested himself.

Cute. Even with the sideburns.

"I tell you, if I'm anything to go by, we probably all look like grey wrinkled sausages," Ossen continues, "Why shouldn't I stare at the humans? Hips aren't as big, but the only other dextro-amino acid females are turians, and I think they're like those earth animals, the hyenas. You know? The ones with the-"

"Hold that thought," Ash says, "Hey! Skipper!"

The bickering stops, and the CO walks over. Ossen blinks, turns to Ash, and then turns to Shepard as she walks over, clicking off the PDA and saluting. And hitting himself in the helmet with the PDA.

"Our new supply guy for the quarians," Ash says, "Kal'Ossen, this is Commander Shepard."

"Ma'am," the quarian says, "Sorry. Miss. Misses? Not sure. You're obviously not old enough for 'Ma'am,' ma'am. Miss. Shepard." He coughs. "Commander."

Jane cocks an eyebrow. Ash nods. Kaidan stares, mouths a question, and stops before he can ask it. Mainly due to Chakwas interrupting.

"Ah, yes," she says, "Good idea, Williams. I'm sure there are plenty of places in the Presidium that serve both Levo and Dextro food. And it would be good for her to not be surrounded by the same people."

"You're serious," Jane says, glancing at the doctor.

"_Deadly_ serious."

Ossen glances at the doctor, then turns his gaze back to Jane.

"Uh...okay. Miss. Uh, Shepard." He coughs. "Commander. Exactly what..."

Ash clamps her hand down on Ossen's shoulder. She smiles, all teeth.

"Here's the thing. Our CO needs some shore leave. We want to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid or violent. What're you doing, tonight?"

Ossen blinks. Stares at Jane. Keeps his eyes on her face.

"Movie."

"Good. You're taking her. Skipper, you've got a date."

Jane shrugs.

"Fine," she says, "I'm checking in with Udina and Anderson. They'll give you the presidium apartment address. Pick me up in ninety."

Jane turns, muttering, and walks off to the elevator. Blinking, trying to avoid obviously looking at the retreating officer's legs, he settles to gazing at the stone faced human male soldier. Who he hopes isn't going to make an example out of him.

"No funny stuff," Kaidan warns.

Ossen shrugs.

"Don't worry about me," he says, "I have no desire to piss off the senior staff of an Alliance ship. Sides which, look at me. I'm quarian. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've seen my _own_ genitals, much less a human's?"

Chakwas purses her lips. Kaidan stares. Ash snickers, and slaps Ossen on the back.

"He's perfect."

* * *

...

* * *

"...so by preventing a heat discharge, what the drive core does is significantly reduce the thermal image of the ship to sensors. Since sensors are, by and large, the main method of ship to ship detection, the reduced thermal electromagnetic imaging makes the ship highly stealthy, and outright invisible to most conventional warships."

Her suit responds like it is programmed to. Upon a lengthy explanation of some fascinating feat or piece of technology, a straw comes out the side and into her mouth, dispensing an herbal tea solution which she sips on. Just in case she has to begin the lecture again.

The turian blinks, staring at her. The elevator continues its steady climb to the Presidium, and in that time Garrus Vakarian, Citadel Spectre, has shown that he understands not a single word out of the quarian girl's mouth.

"So wait," Wrex says, "If the thermal masking reduces sensor signature, what about visual profile recognition?"

Garrus glances at the krogan behind them. Then back at Tali.

"The vast majority of warships don't have windows that can be used as visual ports," she explains, "And besides which, space combat is generally done at a range of tens of thousands of kilometers."

"Didn't help the Normandy today," Wrex responds, shrugging, "From what I saw, it was the tens of kilometers. Besides which, Krogan ships got into knife fight range."

"But there is no Krogan spacefleets anymore."

"Not officially," Wrex responds, and glances at Garrus, "Ask Vakarian."

"Wrex..."

"Blood Pack," Wrex continues, ignoring Garrus, "Clan Weyrloc runs them, but the way Guld has his head up his own ass I wouldn't be surprised if the Vorcha run'em in a few years. But they have ships, and their ships knife fights. If the Normandy got into a fight with a Blood Pack squadron, the stealth system wouldn't do squat."

The elevator dings. The door slides down, revealing the white walkways and lakes of the Presidium.

"Anyway," Wrex says, "Great talkin' with ya, Tali. I gotta make a Wards run."

"Wards run?" Tali asks.

"I got a black market contact I use for equipment and mods," he responds with a shrug, "See you on the Big K."

The krogan walks off, waving at them as he heads towards the financial district, and the elevator leading to the Wards on the Citadel's arms. Shrugging, Garrus walks out, Tali following him, before speeding up her pace and walking alongside him.

"Thanks for helping me with this, Mr. Vakarian."

"You can call me Garrus," he responds, twitching his mandibles, "I know I'm a Spectre and that apparently makes me important, but I'm not that much older than you."

"Really."

He nods. Walking along the white walkways, they walk past the embassies, uniformed humans and turians in the blue and black of C-Sec saluting as he passes.

"I've been in the military since I was fifteen," he explains, "Instead of becoming a lifer, I followed Dad into C-Sec. I was offered Spectre training, with the idea that I might end up as a Spectre. Dad wasn't happy."

"Why?"

"Spectres write their own rules," he explains, walking through a garden lined square, "And when your species' prominent Spectre is Saren Arterius, you get a bad impression on what that power does to someone. So, I did research. Found better examples than that barefaced son of a bitch. And promised I'd live up to their examples, not Saren's."

Tali nods. She wrings her hands.

"Have you?"

"I don't involve civilians," he says, "I don't kill unless it's a last resort. Spectres enforce the law. They aren't _the_ law. That's what I go by. So, enough about me." His mandibles twitch. He grins. "Who's your friend?"

"Mahrek and I met on the Extranet."

"Ah..."

"'Ah,' what?"

"Old saying," he says with a smirk, "The Extranet: Where the human males are human males, the human females are salarians, the asari are hanar, and the underage quarians are Spectres."

"That's...not reassuring."

He shrugs.

"Your boyfriend managed to contact you during a closed circuit combat situation," Garrus responds, "For all we know, he's a Geth. I've gone undercover as a quarian teenager myself, too. Mainly to lure out this batarian pedophile."

"Again. Not reassuring," she says, and sighs, "Father likes me using the Extranet to take advanced courses, not as much for socializing. Especially with quarians who never return from their Pilgrimage."

"Who could be batarians."

The points of light underneath the mask rise, move to the side, and fall. Tali has just rolled her eyes.

"_Any_way," she says, "Mahrek works at a Sirta office on the Presidium. He does cybersecurity work, or so he told me."

Glass doors open, passing civilians, hanar preachers, flirting asari. Two humans arguing loudly nearby, someone running up to them. Garrus isn't sure, but he could swear that it's Shepard, but files that away for later.

Noise hits them like a physical thing. Bartering, debating, storefronts and offices flashing with lights. Working through a crowd, a throng of every species, the two work their way towards a door on the far end of the shopping center. Garrus narrows an eye, the blue screen over it flickering.

"Is the armor necessary?" Tali asks.

"Quarian kid, living on the Citadel, breaks through a closed circuit combat grade cybersuite? I like to be prepared."

The door opens. A reception desk, offices in the back, wall screens with news and stock information. An asari at the desk, young and probably in Maiden stage who decided to check the 'clerical worker' box instead of the 'mercenary prostitute' box on her life plan. She looks up from her computer, stares at the two.

"Welcome to Sirta. What can I do for you?"

"Mahrek'Noktem vas Citadel," Garrus says, "Spectre Authority."

"He's-"

"Mister Harper, I understand your concerns, but I'd rather meet in person or on visual FTL comm if you're asking for an upgrade on this level."

Quarian, accented. Sounds like Tali's accent, Garrus notes. Along with the voice, the owner of it enters the room. The owner in this case is a quarian, male, taller than Tali but shorter than Garrus. His encounter suit is dark brown, lined with black, reddish black boots on his two toed feet and dark brown, leathery gloves. His face mask is dark blue, a pair of glowing sky blue eyes and the outline of a nose visible, his mouth piece flickering. He lacks the belt and harness Garrus saw on the marines Reegar was with.

He also doesn't seem as built, or stocky as them, either.

"Mister Harper, this isn't a small thing you're asking for. We're talking top of the line stuff. I'd have to personally install most of the components myself, because this is _custom_ made. I mean I-"

And he walks straight into Garrus' chestplate. He looks up. Garrus smiles. The quarians screams, shrieking high pitched and powerful, much like a little girl. But, much to Garrus' surprise, he doesn't run.

"Am I in trouble?" he finally asks.

"No," Garrus responds, "Not yet."

And Garrus is none too gently shoved aside, Tali pushing up and into the boy's line of view.

"Mahrek?"

He blinks.

"Tali?" he asks, and nods to Garrus, "He's a Spectre."

"Yes."

"Why do you know a Spectre?" he asks, "Am I in trouble? Your father found out about me and wants me killed, doesn't he? This is half the reason I left the fleet, you know, because I know he's the only father you have but he's two seals short of a full suit-"

She grabs his helmet in both hands, and forces him to look directly at her.

"Shut up," she says, "I want to talk with you. I'm on the Citadel, we've chatted on the Extranet, and you helped us destroy a 2 kilometer long dreadnought that wanted to kill everything forever."

"I did?"

"Yes," she responds, "Also, you're not a geth, a hanar, a krogan, or a batarian pervert. So I think I at least owe you lunch." She tilts her head towards Garrus. "Which he's paying for."

Mahrek nods. Garrus shrugs.

"Rysa?" Mahrek says, and clears his throat, "Could you take messages for me? I'm going to take lunch, now."

Before he can hear a response from the secretary, Tali grabs him by the forearm and drags him out. Garrus shrugs.

"Could've sworn she had a thing for Alenko," he says, and ambles out. Probably have to keep them out of trouble, anyway.

* * *

...

* * *

"So, Liara. Let's count the ways things just went and screwed up."

Tips the glass back, feeling the blue...liquid? Is it liquid? It's her third shot, so she has no idea. Tipping the glass back, she feels _it_ burn her throat, the dim red and blue lights of the corner booth she's occupied at Flux- the most expensive bar in the Wards she could find that doesn't smell like Krogan- helping to disorient her more.

At least her personal funds weren't frozen, even if Benezia's were. So she can go and get herself absolutely hammered after today's events.

"First," she says, leaning on her hand, fingers splayed over her freckled blue face, "Mother has gone and joined a genocidal turian Spectre who wants to kill everything."

She downs another shot. She's not quite sure what she ordered, outside of telling the waiter 'Enough to kill me, and take away two.'

"Also, the theory you had? About genocidal outsiders who wiped out the Protheans? Turns out to have been absolutely right. Except they're also 2 kilometer long dreadnoughts, there are thousands of them, and Mother is now allied with the genocidal turian Spectre who is allied with them."

She downs another shot. Mother, Mother, Mother, she thinks, She probably has to find this amusing. Eager and intelligent Liara, celebrating her theories being right by getting herself shit faced at a high class bar on the Citadel.

"Oh, yes," Liara says, downing another shot, coughing, "You also met a Prothean. Who knows nothing about Prothean culture, history, science, or anything other than this 'cosmic imperative' that you read about in a Krogan love letter on Illium. So no, the Protheans may have been a wise, intelligent, guiding race. But the Prothean that survived to the present day? An _asshole."_

She downs another shot.

"And on top of that, Mother, or her genocidal turian Spectre boyfriend, may have sent Geth and a Yahg to kill you," she says. She sighs. "I should have been a dancer."

She downs another shot. Leaning forward, she presses her palms against her forehead, slowly massaging her face. In the past day she has been shot at, trapped, had her entire world shaken, and learned that she, while smart, is not _wise._ She has been enlisted into a fight against the forces of evil- which now include Mother- and has been nearly killed so many times in the past day that she can't count them all on one hand.

"Ma'am."

She peaks a blue eye out from between splayed fingers. A quarian, one of the quarians on the Normandy that they picked up on Therum, is standing at her table.

"Yeees?" she slurs.

"Seems to me you've been having a rough day, ma'am," he says, sliding into the booth, "Just wanted to make sure you didn't get yourself hurt."

She blinks. She smiles, albeit shakily. Or perhaps she is shaking, and swaying a little.

"Don't think we've met," he says, "Kal'Reegar."

He extends a hand. She smiles, takes his. Not sure if she's shaking his hand or just shaking.

"Liara," she says, "I...well, I can handle myself."

"More's the merrier," he responds with a shrug, "Sides which, that turian over by the dance floor was saying her was going to make a move on you."

"The one with the black eye?"

"Yep," he says, bringing up two fingers on his right hand, waiting as the waiter comes over with a smaller tray of two drinks, "Talked him out of it. Pretty sure we need to both be, y'know, at our best tomorrow so I thought you'd need a designated walker."

She nods. Walking may not be her strong point, right now. Or sitting, she realizes, as she collapses sideways, her head on the shoulder of the quarian marine as he pops the straw out of his mouthpiece.

"Never got drunk before, have you?" he asks.

"Nope," she mutters, "Mum never went evil before, either. I think today's gotta lotta firsts."

* * *

...

* * *

"_...so, your brother's been busy doing security work, and I think he has a new girlfriend. Not sure, because he refuses to name her. Meanwhile, the big news? Jenny's pregnant!"_

She peaks her head out of the shower stall, and to the orange screen floating over the bathroom mirror, with the name H SHEPARD, SSV KILIMANJARO underneath.

"Seriously? Cousin Jenny? From Mindoir?"

"_Yes, the Cousin Jenny who lived with us on the Einstein for two years. She's expecting in about six months. Only got in touch with me last week. They're living on Terra Nova, now. She's doing mining work in orbit."_

"Cool, cool. So, since she's, basically, your god daughter..."

"_Nope. Not letting you or James off the hook."_

"Curses."

"_You're hitting thirty, I'm approaching sixty,"_ Hannah responds, Jane reaching for the shampoo with a smirk, "_And I ride James just as hard for this. He's not military, so he doesn't have an excuse for asking the next pretty young thing for a date or marriage. And I know that half the men on your ship would jump at the chance if you weren't their CO. That beefcake LT, for example."_

"Alenko."

"_Read his personnel file. It's like a harlequin romance novel. Boy meets girl and defends her from evil spikey monster. Although, since he's your crew you can't. But what about that nice Asari girl you picked up? She looked interested, if you know what I mean."_

"Mom. Seriously."

"_Hannah cares not from whence the grandbabies flow, only that there are grandbabies!"_

_ "_That was perhaps the most seriously creepy thing I've ever heard you say, Mom," she sighs, rinsing her hair, "How'd we get to this topic, again?"

"_By you going on a date after getting your arm twisted into it. Cute guy. Nice and awkward. Snap them up quickly, I'm on a dry spell."_

Jane rolls her eyes, stepping out of the shower.

"Thought you were hitting sixty, Mom."

"_Sixty's the new forty. Why're we on audio only, anyway?"_

"Because I just stepped out of the shower and am naked?"

"_Nothing I haven't seen before, kiddo."_

"How about the bridge crew?"

"_You think they've never seen your baby pictures?"_

Jane rolls her eyes, grabbing the towel, roughing up her red hair. She stares at the mirror. Below her breasts, three faint white marks, discolorations. The last of the scarring from an emergency dose of medigel.

"We going to keep discussing my non existent sex life while I'm aboard the Kilimanjaro?"

"_Only if you keep me from being a grandmother and keep surrounding yourself with sexy, sexy crew members. I'll let you get to your primping."_

"Love you, Mom."

"_Be careful. If you can't be careful, be safe. And if you can't be safe, name it after me! Captain Hannah out."_

* * *

_..._

* * *

The blue light coalesces, forms, and becomes a three dimensional hologram. His colors washed out in blue, nonetheless she knows who he is. The roundness of his face, the set, stony features despite the girl climbing onto his back, the lips twitching at the corner as he sees her face. Irikah smiles at her husband, and to the almost eight year old girl hanging onto his shoulders.

_"Mom!"_ Lyta Krios says, "_Are you really on the Citadel? What's it like? Did you buy my __anything?"_

"Yes, busy, and yes," Irikah says, "Thane, how's things on Kahje?"

"_Busy,"_ Thane Krios responds, reaching over his shoulder and picking up his daughter, turning her around, and cradling her in one swift motion, "_We went on an expedition. Found something interesting, How about you?"_

"I've had an interesting few days," she says, "Where's Kolyat?"

A head peaks in from the side, fizzling out around the neck.

"_Right here, Mom,"_ he says, blinking double eyelids as Lyta begins trying to push him out of the picture, "_Hey! Brat!"_

"_I heard reports. I'm a little worried, Siha."_

"We're fine," Irikah says, and raises a hand to silence him before he can protest, "Really. I can handle myself, Thane. Don't worry about me. How about you?"

Thane glances at her. He glances at the children. They quickly exit, disappearing, the faint disconnected sound of a door closing.

"_Siha, I had a checkup. I had Kepral Syndrome."_

Irikah's heart skips.

"No."

"_Had. It's cured."_

She blinks.

"What?"

He glances from side to side. Balls his hand, clears his throat.

"_It was early onset, and a benefactor had figured out a treatment. In return, I'm doing work for them. No wetwork, nothing violent. Reconnaissance, information gathering, and treasure hunting. I'm going to have your brother look after Kolyat and Lyta for a few weeks. It would be easier if you were here."_

She places her hands on her hips.

"_Understood. I'll be careful as long as you are."_

"I promise, Thane. I'll send as many letters as I can."

"_I will hold you to that, Siha."_

He clears his throat, and a door opens in the background. And an eight year old Drell girl as atop her father's shoulders again almost as soon as the door opens, and the family conversation continues.

* * *

...

* * *

"_A doctor?_ Seriously? He has a PhD?"

She stares at the screen.

"Seriously. I would've figured him to be a college dropout or something from the way he stalked me. Still, could use this. Keyboard?"

She has five minutes until the date arrives. She has to talk with Ash about this. This has to violate a huge amount of regs. Matchmaking ones commanding officer should be against something. Although they are right, she has been riding herself hard. Especially with what's to come, but she just feels at...peace...more than she has in years.

"Dear Doctor Conrad Verner," she says, fingers typing in time with her speech, "My name is Jane Shepard, and I have been studying your doctorate paper. I wanted to get your input on a recent mission which may support your doctoral thesis."

She snickers. She can only imagine what his reaction to this would be. Then she blanches, imagining what his reaction would be.

"I will be on the Citadel for the next day," she continues, "If you have the time, I would like to talk with you. Thank you for your time, Jane Shepard."

Hits the send button and pushes away from her desk, wheels of the desk chair squeaking as she stands up. Piles of clothing are on the cot of the Presidium apartment set aside for her during her brief, enforced leave, her duffle propped up against the wall and pulled open.

Turns, stares at the full wall mirror next to the desk. Black sweater, tan skirt down to her knees, shoes. She turns to her side, hands on her hips. Sweater's snug, but not tight. She grabs her breasts, pushes them up, running a hand through her hair and deciding against actually stylizing it. Comb works just as damn well.

Looking down at the skirt, she frowns. Technically, it's a good skirt. Probably stylish. At least, not ugly. She's been wearing military fatigues since she turned eighteen. Probably been that long since she had a damn date. Turning to the mirror, she rears back and kicks, aiming her foot to an imaginary head. Just in case.

"Fuck," she says, "That's like a free show. Fuck it, we're going with pants."

The skirt joins its kin on the bed, and she buckles the belt, a pair of tan pants going with the black sweater. Staring at the mirror, she turns to her side. Pants are loose. She doesn't do tight, though. What's the point of tight clothes when you spend most of your time on a military ship?

"Fuck," she mutters, "How long has it been since I've actually _had_ a date?"

She's already hit thirty, if she counts the three years she still remembers. Given, she was either dead or in a stockade when she hit the 3 and 0, but still.

The door chimes. Checking the time, she rolls her eyes, slips on her shoes, and walks across the room and taps the green circle. The door opens, Ossen hastily clicks the screen on his omnitool closed, light on his mouthpiece blinking with his cough.

"Ah. Hello." He reaches behind him, bringing up a mass of hastily tied together flowers. Some of which still have leaves, and if she looks closely, roots on them. "Sorry, I don't really know that much about human customs. I...well, thought that this was appropriate, considering that the other human insisted this was a date."

She hates flowers.

"They're fine," she says with a smile.

She does, however, have to give him points for effort. It is kind of charming.

"So," she says, "Where're we going?"

"Movie," he responds, "Hope you don't mind. I'm...uh...something of a geek."

He looks, sees a cup of water at the desk next to the door, and drops the flowers in.

"I was going to go to the Cinema and see Star Wars, actually. The new one."

She cocks an eyebrow.

"They made a new one?"

"Nah, just remade the old ones," he responds, shrugging, "Only they replaced the cast with Elcor. Heard it was pretty good."

She shrugs, nods, and walks with him. Walking beside her, he taps his omnitool closed, folding his hands behind him as they walk from the apartments and into the Presidium itself.

"I hope you don't mind," he says, "But, well, I have been studying up. Even if this isn't the typical customs, I do insist on paying."

She smirks. Rolling her head, rolling her shoulders, she takes in the quiet moment as they walk towards the elevators, and the lift towards the cinema and her first night off in god knows how long. And as the doors close in front of them, she glances out over the Presidium.

And she swears, for a moment, that she spotted Wrex on a dingy, fishing.

* * *

...

* * *

**OMAKE:**

Dark Space. The void between galaxies. The only light in this small patch of the void are the blue lights which run the length and breadth of their forms, the blue and red lightning which travels the lengths of their consciousnesses, and the golden lights of his eyes.

He is the **Resplendent Harbinger of Ascension.** Oldest and wisest of them, their leader in absentia of their creator. He is the One who sits above the Many. But He is only the one.

He is not the many.

**Nazara has been destroyed. Our vanguard has been lost. We must seize the initiative and attack now, before the Cycle is broken.**

Blue lights before Him, the eyes and lights of many of the great Mechanism. One of them, long opposed and antagonistic to Him, uncoils his tentacles and twitches his optics at the others flanking him.

**"Harbinger,"** the Reaper, **Venerated Harmonious Rejoinder, **says, "**How are you aware of this? What could possibly have destroyed one of our own? The organics can not possibly have created something that could destroy one as resourceful and powerful as Nazara."**

** I have seen it through the memory downloads of Nazara. Shepard will find a way to break the Cycle unless we stop her.**

**Perfect Blossom of Bridging,** to the left of Rejoinder, rolls the eight blue optic ports.

"**Ah, yes,**" Rejoinder says, twitching the two tendrils closest to his face, "**'Shepard'. The supposed time traveling organic who has destroyed several Destroyer-class Reapers, one of whom she did on foot with a single gun. We have dismissed this claim."**

And with that, the lights fade on Rejoinder, Blossom, and the other Reapers as they resume their millennial slumber. Harbinger sighs, turning back to the galaxy. He'll have to think of _something._


End file.
